CASi 
B 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


A     NOVEL. 


IN     TWO     VOLUMES. 
VOL.   II. 


NEW-YORK: 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  82  CLIFF-STREET. 

1836. 


[Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1836,  by 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  Southern  District  of  New- York.] 


v    »    r~^ 

GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  CA0SE 

D 


CHAPTER   I. 

When  the  whole  host  of  Hatred  stood  hard  by, 

To  watch  and  mock  thee  shrinking,  thou  didst  stand 
With  a  sedate  and  all- enduring  eye. 

BYKON. 

WE  now  approached  the    seat  of  justice  for 

county,  and  as  we  mingled  in  the  crowd  of 

countrymen  flocking  to  the  same  point,  our  conver- 
sation was  necessarily  interrupted.  I  soon  saw 
that  Balcombe  was  distinguished,  and  that  he  was 
an  object  of  interest  and  curiosity,  which  was 
painful  to  me.  By  him  it  seemed  to  be  un- 
marked, and  he  moved  on  with  a  countenance  of 
quiet  serenity,  as  a  man  familiar  with  notoriety, 
and  secure  of  himself 

"  In  all  that  he  would  do  or  should  endure." 

The  county  having  been  newly  laid  off,  there 
was  no  courthouse.  -  The  place  was  called  a 


M  4S6 


BALCOMBE. 

•*•  ; ::« *'*:*£***    s  *"*     • 

*  *  tdwi;  thcrugK  there  was  tut  a  single  rude  dwelling, 
in  one  room  of  which  the  court  was  already  sit- 
•  ting.  We  entered  just  as  the  grand  jury  had  been 
sent  out.  Many  of  the  bystanders  had  followed, 
so  that  at  the  moment  the  crowd  was  thinned,  and 
there  was  a  pause  in  business.  In  one  corner,  be- 
hind a  small  table,  over  which  his  leg  was  thrown, 
sat  a  good-looking  man,  of  a  sleepy  eye  and  slug- 
gish air,  puffing  lazily  at  the  stump  of  a  cigar. 
This,  I  learned,  was  the  judge.  At  another  table 
was  the  clerk,  and  clustered  around  were  several 
persons,  various  in  air,  dress,  and  aspect,  whose 
bustling  manner  indicated  that  they  were  lawyers. 
A  little  apart  sat  two  gentlemen,  whose  intelli- 
gent countenances,  as  they  glanced  with  a  cool 
inquiring  look  on  all  that  passed,  at  times  exchan- 
ging whispers,  sometimes  serious,  sometimes  play- 
ful, marked  them  as  the  master  minds  of  the  place. 
In  one  of  these  I  recognised  my  acquaintance  Sha- 
ler.  The  other  was  a  man  of  striking  appearance. 
Though  apparently  not  more  than  thirty  years  of 
age,  he  was  quite  gray ;  but  his  complexion  was 
fresh  and  ruddy,  his  features  regular  and  bold,  his 
forehead  broad  and  high  ;  and  his  dark  gray  eye, 
quietly  moving  around  the  room,  dwelt  a  moment 
on  each  individual,  as  if  reading  and  thoroughly  un* 
derstanding  all  in  turn.  There  was  something  in 
the  flush  of  his  cheek  that  might  betoken  dissipa- 
tion, and  a  recklessness  in  his  roving  eye  not  com- 
patible with  a  very  strict  code  of  moral  principles  ; 
but  the  tout  ensemble  bespoke  a  man  of  quick  and 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

clear  perceptions,  and  a  bold  and  vigorous  thinker. 
Observing  me,  Mr.  Shaler  bowed  with  polite  rec- 
ognition, and  approaching,  accosted  me  with  a 
courtesy  so  little  like  his  former  careless  manner, 
as  to  convince  me  that  he  had  learned  the  charac- 
ter of  the  parties  implicated,  and  regarded  the  pros- 
ecution of  a  man  like  Balcombe  as  a  very  different 
affair  from  that  of  a  poor  devil  like  Keizer.  He 
was  now  grave,  considerate,  and  delicate  in  his 
manner  of  approaching  the  subject,  and  inquiring 
whether  my  friend  was  prepared  to  take  his  trial. 
He  seemed  desirous  to  let  me  know  that  he  had 
restrained  the  officers  of  the  court  from  calling  the 
parties,  thinking  it  would  be  more  agreeable  to  a 
gentleman  like  Mr.  Balcombe  to  appear  uncalled. 
In  short,  I  saw  plainly  that  he  found  himself  in- 
volved in  a  disagreeable  business,  and  would  gladly 
escape  from  it ;  though  I  had  no  doubt  that  when 
once  fairly  pitted,  he  would  do  his  best  to  accom- 
plish the  destruction  of  a  man  who  had  never 
wronged  him,  and  whom,  if  he  knew  anything  of 
him,  he  must  esteem  and  admire. 

Such  is  the  lot  of  the  intellectual  prizefighters  of 
the  bar.  Their  hearts  may  sink,  like  that  of  Bois- 
guilbert  when  battling  against  the  champion  of  her 
he  loved  best  on  earth ;  their  powers  may  fail 
them  under  the  crushing  weight  of  sympathy  for 
their  victim,  but  while  their  powers  remain  they 
must  be  exerted. 

"Can  it  be  true,  as  I  am  told,"  said  Shaler, 
"  that  Mr.  Balcombe  has  retained  no  counsel  ?" 

A2 


b  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

"  None,"  said  I. 

"  He  will  at  least  indirectly  have  the  benefit  of 
the  talents  of  the  other  prisoner's  counsel." 

"  They  have  none." 

"  Poor  devils !  I  suppose  they  are  too  poor. 
But  the  court  will  assign  them  counsel,  and  in  that 
case  they  will  have  the  best  the  country  affords,  as 
my  friend  Whitehead  from  St.  Louis  is  here  and 
disengaged." 

"They  have  no  wish  nor  need  for  counsel," 
said  I. 

He  looked  really  distressed  when  I  said  this. 
"  Surely,"  said  he,  "  they  are  not  aware  of  the  se- 
rious aspect  of  the  case.  Besides,"  continued  he, 
"  though  we  don't  deal  in  the  maxims  of  chivalry, 
it  really  seems  ungenerous,  that  I  should  come  in 
aid  of  the  counsel  for  the  prosecution  against  an 
undefended  man." 

"  Are  you  acquainted  with  Mr.  Balcombe  ?"  I 
asked,  thm  %>^'f 

"  I  am  not.  I  know  him  by  character,  and 
should  be  glad  to  know  him  personally,  if  it  were 
proper  or  delicate  to  seek  an  introduction." 

"  I  merely  asked,"  said  I,  "  because  I  thought  if 
you  had  known  him,  you  would  think  him  no  con- 
temptible adversary." 

'*  I  know  he  is  far  from  it ;  common  fame  testifies 
of  that,  as  well  as  of  his  high  honour  and  unexcep- 
tionable character  ;  and  I  sincerely  hope  that  he 
may  *  outlive  the  envy  of  this  day,'  and  not  be  in- 


GEORGE   BALCOMBE.  7 

duced  by  anything  that  may  pass  to  deny  me  the 
pleasure  of  his  acquaintance." 

"  Yours  must  be  a  strange  and  painful  situation," 
said  I. 

"  It  is  anything  but  pleasant,"  he  replied  ;  "  and 
so  impatient  of  it  am  I,  that  I  trust  I  do  not  break 
faith  with  my  client  when  I  hint  to  you,  that  Mr. 
Balcombe  will  have  more  need  of  the  aid  of  coun- 
sel learned  in  the  law  than  he  is  aware  of." 

•'  I  believe,"  said  I,  "  he  would  as  soon  lose  his 
life,  as  save  it  at  the  expense  of  honour,  as  it  would 
be,  if  saved  by  legal  quibbles." 

"  I  am  easily  persuaded,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Sha- 
ler,  with  earnest  kindness,  "  that  he  has  no  need  of 
any  defence  of  that  sort ;  but  he  will  need  the  aid 
of  professional  skill  to  protect  himself  against  legal 
quibbles." 

"  Who  will  use  them  ?"  said  I,  somewhat 
alarmed.  -<.ir 

u  I  shall,"  said  he.  "  It  is  strange  how  it  can  be 
any  man's  duty  to  do  so  ;  but  it  is  my  duty.  The 
functions  of  a  lawyer  are  peculiar,  and  his  duty  to 
*  smite  and  spare  not*  is  ascertained  by  considera- 
tions which  I  have  no  time  to  detail,  but  the  sound- 
ness of  which  cannot  be  questioned.  But  this 
duty  does  not  commence  until  the  trial,  except 
that  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  disclose  the  point  or 
mode  of  attack.  But  though  I  am  bound  to  strike 
unsparingly,  at  the  head  and  at  the  heart,  I  am  not 
bound  to  beguile  my  adversary  into  fancied  secu- 
rity, or  to  let  him  rest  in  it.  It  would  relieve  me 


8  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

from  an  unpleasant  feeling  if  you  would  mention 
this  matter  to  Mr.  Balcombe." 

I  did  so.  He  heard  me  with  composed  atten- 
tion, and  then  said, 

"  No,  William  ;  I  have  set  my  life  upon  the  cast. 
I  was  at  one  time  intended  for  the  bar,  and  have 
some  little  knowledge  of  the  law  ;  and  I  am  aware 
that  there  are  difficulties  in  the  way  of  which  I 
have  not  spoken  to  you.  Such  a  prosecution  as 
this  in  itself  is  a  reproach  upon  my  name,  which 
can  only  be  wiped  off  by  meeting  it  with  no  ar- 
mour but  that  of  innocence.  An  acquittal  procured 
by  the  aid  of  counsel  would  not  remove  the  stigma; 
and  sooner  than  bear  that  home  to  the  pure  bosom 
of  her  that  awaits  my  return,  I  will  peril  that  utter 
destruction  which  she,  I  know,  will  not  long  sur- 
vive. Think  of  her  as  she  is,  William,  and  you 
will  not  wonder  at  what  I  do." 

In  uttering  these  last  words,  his  voice  faltered  for 
the  first  time,  and  he  seemed  more  deeply  moved 
than  I  had  ever  seen  him.  He  presently  recov- 
ered himself,  and  added,  "  Will  you  do  me  the  fa- 
vour to  say  to  the  gentleman,  that  if  he  apprehends 
no  very  decided  impropriety  in  an  introduction  to 
me,  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  an  opportunity  of  ac- 
knowledging, personally,  my  sense  of  his  kind- 
ness." 

I  mentioned  his  wish  to  Shaler,  who  immedi- 
ately approached,  and  was  introduced  to  Bal- 
combe.  "I  owe  you  my  acknowledgments,  sir,'* 
said  he,  "  for  the  interest  you  express  in  me,  and 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  * 

the  reluctance  with  which  you  enter  on  a  duty, 
rendered  painful  by  the  kindness  of  your  feelings 
towards  a  stranger.  It  gives  me  pleasure  to  be 
thus  guarded  against  misconstruction  of  what  you 
may  do  to-day,  and  to  say  that  I  hope  hereafter  to 
find  occasions  to  show  my  sense  of  your  honoura- 
ble frankness." 

Shalcr  tried  to  say  something  in  reply,  but  his 
words  stuck  in  his  throat.  He  turned  away,  and 
threw  himself  into  a  chair  by  his  companion,  and  I 
heard  him  say, "  By  God !  Whitehead,you  must  help 
these  poor  fellows  out,  if  you  find  that  damned  fool 
going  to  decide  any  important  point  against  them." 
Whitehead  made  no  reply,  but  turned  his  head, 
and  twisting  his  tobacco  in  his  mouth,  fixed  an  eye 
of  cold  and  heartless  scrutiny  uponBalcombe ;  then 
rising,  he  squirted  a  mouthful  of  tobacco  juice 
through  his  teeth,  thrust  his  hands  into  his  breeches 
pockets,  and  walked  away. 

The  grand  jury  now  appeared,  and  returned 
true  bills  against  George  Balcombe,  James  Scott, 
and  John  Keizer  for  the  murder  of  Andrew  Ram- 
say. After  some  conversation  between  Shaler  and 
the  circuit  attorney,  it  was  asked  whether  the  ac- 
cused were  ready  for  trial.  Balcombe  promptly 
answered  that  he  and  Scott  were,  but  that  Keizer 
had  not  appeared.  He  was  accordingly  called, 
when,  to  my  great  relief,  he  answered,  and  bustled 
into  court.  He  was  more  soiled  and  shabby  than 
I  had  ever  seen  him,  with  a  double  portion  of  blood 
and  grease  on  his  leather  clothes,  and  his  thin  beard 


10  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

*';   .:  =|#-  '"•.£#  I 

seemed  to  have  been  for  weeks  a  stranger  to  the  ra- 
zor. I  had  never  before  seen  him  exhibit  any  signs 
of  weariness.  Now  he  looked  fagged  and  jaded, 
and  though  the  fire  of  his  keen  black  eye  was  not 
quenched,  it  showed  the  want  of  sleep.  As  it  fell 
on  Balcombe  it  resumed  its  expression  of  cheerful 
confidence,  and  he  approached  his  patron  with  an 
outstretched  hand. 

"  Where  upon  earth  have  you  been,  John  ?"  said 
Balcombe. 

"  Why,  you  see,  colonel,  I  was  just  tired  of  doing 
nothing,  and  as  the  hunting  season  was  come,  I 
thought  I'd  just  take  a  turn  a  while  in  the  prairies, 
and  be  back  to  court." 

"  Well,  are  you  ready  for  trial  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes  !  if  you  say  so,  sir." 

Balcombe  accordingly  informed  the  court  that 
all  were  ready ;  and  being  asked  whether  the  ac- 
cused wished  to  be  tried  separately,  he  replied  that 
they  did  not.  An  offer  to  assign  counsel  was  also 
respectfully  and  modestly  declined.  Copies  were 
now  handed  to  Balcombe  of  the  panels  of  jurors 
to  be  examined,  while  they  were  called  into  court. 
Glancing  his  eye  over  that  which  belonged  to  his 
own  case,  he  rose,  and  said, 

"  Before  we  proceed  to  swear  the  jury,  sir,  I 
have  one  word  to  say,  which  will  stand  instead  of 
all  those  cavilling  exceptions  to  the  qualifications 
of  jurors,  which  I  have  no  wish  to  make.  I  am 
not  a  man  to  pass  through  life  without  enemies. 
Now,  sir,  the  name  of  the  gentleman  who  has  sub- 


GEORGE   BALCOMBE.  11 


scribed  this  panel  as  returning  officer  is  new  to 
me.  I  cannot,  therefore,  be  understood  as  ascri- 
bing to  him  any  improper  bias ;  but  it  somehow  so 
happens,  that  there  is  not  a  man  in  the  county  of 
whose  enmity  I  have  cause  to  be  proud,  or  whose 
unkind  feelings  I  have  occasion  to  lament,  but  I 
find  his  name  on  this  paper.  I  thank  God  they  are 
not  many  ;  but  their  array  looks  somewhat  for- 
midable, at  the  very  head  of  this  list,  where  they 
seem  to  require  of  me  to  commence  the  prepara- 
tions for  the  trial  by  exhibiting  the  unfavourable 
symptom  of  a  captious  disposition.  If  any  such 
expectation  is  entertained,  it  shall  be  disappointed. 
I  am  not  so  uncandid  as  to  deny  that  I  see  here  the 
names  of  men,  from  whom,  notwithstanding  pri- 
vate hostility,  I  should  expect  nothing  but  justice. 
But  if  there  be  any  who  are  conscious  to  them- 
selves of  a  malignity  which  would  delight  in  the 
ignominious  death  of  an  innocent  man,  I  shall  rest 
in  the  hope  that  they  will  first  sit  in  judgment  on 
themselves,  and  voluntarily  declare  their  own  dis- 
qualification. I  shall  pry  into  the  secret  of  no 
man's  heart.  There  is  One  to  whom  all  are  open, 
and  he  will  judge  between  them  and  me." 

As  Balcombe  said  this,  I  saw  marks  of  emotion 
on  almost  every  face  in  the  room.  In  no  two,  per- 
haps, precisely  the  same  ;  it  varied  in  degree  and 
character  in  each  individual.  Respect,  sympathy, 
admiration,  or  malignity  was  displayed  in  every 
countenance,  two  only  excepted.  The  stolid  apa- 
thy of  the  judge  was  unmoved.  Whitehead,  who 


12  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

had  resumed  his  seat  near  Shaler,  turned  his  head 
again  as  Balcombe  began  to  speak,  and  fixing  on 
him  a  look  of  intense  but  undefinable  interest,  con- 
tinued his  scrutiny  until  long  after  he  had  finished 
his  remarks. 

The  jury  were  now  successively  called  to  the 
book.  The  first  who  appeared,  a  fine-looking  man 
of  good  address  and  an  intellectual  countenance, 
unhesitatingly  declared  his  hostility  to  Balcombe. 

"  I  am  perfectly  aware  of  it,  sir,"  said  Balcombe ; 
"  it  has  been  shown  openly  as  becomes  a  man ; 
but  I  make  no  objection  on  that  account." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Shaler,  "the  gentleman  has 
formed  or  delivered  an  opinion  in  the  case.  If  so, 
I  shall  challenge  him." 

"  I  have  not,"  replied  the  juror,  quietly,  and  took 
his  seat. 

Another,  another,  and  another  were  called,  and 
making  the  same  objection,  were  permitted  to  with- 
draw. The  influence  of  Balcombe's  appeal,  and  of 
the  example  of  the  first  juror,  was  such,  that  I  am 
persuaded  it  effectually  purged  the  panel  of  all  Bal- 
combe's enemies  but  two  or  three  by  whom  he  chose 
to  be  tried.  Having  got  through  them,  he  quietly 
went  on,  rejecting  none  but  men  whose  appear- 
ance and  manner  indicated  a  low  intellect  or  de- 
graded and  vicious  minds.  In  the  end  a  jury  was 
obtained,  on  which  it  was  impossible  to  look  with- 
out seeing  that  they  were  men  to  whom  innocence 
might  safely  trust  for  a  defence  against  anything 
but  perjury. 


6EORGE    BALCOMBE.  13 


CHAPTER  II. 

Never  any  man  acted  such  a  part  on  such  a  theatre  with  more 
wisdom,  constancy,  and  eloquence  ;  with  greater  reason,  judg- 
ment, and  temper,  and  with  a  better  grace  in  all  his  words  and 
actions. — WHITLOCKE. 

THE  witnesses  were  now  called,  and  good  old 
Mr.  Jones  repeated  very  accurately  what  he  had 
said  before  the  justice.  When  he  came  to  speak 
of  the  return  of  the  pistol,  he  was  stopped  by  Sha- 
ler,  who  said  that  he  did  not  mean  to  inquire  whe- 
ther Balcombe  had  acknowledged  it  to  be  his  or 
no ;  he  therefore  requested  nothing  might  be  said 
of  that  matter.  Then,  addressing  the  court,  he 
added,  "  As  I  do  not  mean  at  all  to  avail  myself 
of  any  admissions  of  Mr.  Balcombe,  I  wish  to  be 
understood  as  objecting  to  all  evidence  which  may 
be  offered  of  words  spoken  by  him." 

Then  turning  to  the  witness,  he  asked  whether 
Scott  had  recognised  the  picture.  I  had  observed, 
as  he  spoke,  a  slight  flush  on  the  pale  and  withered 
cheek  of  the  old  man,  and  a  gleam  of  light  in  his 
dim  eye,  as  if  he  had  a  glimmering  and  unpleasant 
perception  of  the  effect  of  this  course  of  examina- 
tion. He  now  replied  that  Scott  claimed  the  pic- 

VOL.  n. — B 


14  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

ture  eagerly,  and  that  neither  he  nor  Balcombe 
seemed  at  all  disconcerted,  but  that  the  latter 
appeared  to  forget  everything  in  the  thought  of  the 
original  of  the  picture.  This  was  said  in  the 
hurried  way  of  a  man  fearful  of  being  interrupted, 
and  I  was  pleased  to  see  that  as  the  toils  of  the  law 
were  drawn  around  Balcombe,  the  sympathies  of 
good  men  were  awakened  in  his  favour. 

Notwithstanding  this,  I  was  now,  for  the  first 
time,  filled  with  consternation ;  for  I  could  not  be 
insensible  how  much  the  candid  and  perspicuous 
narrative  of  Balcombe  had  done  to  impress  the 
justice  and  the  bystanders  favourably  on  the  for- 
mer occasion.  This  advantage  was  now  to  be 
denied  him,  and  I  saw  the  necessity  of  making  it 
up,  if  possible,  by  the  fulness  and  clearness  of  my 
own  testimony. 

Johnson  now  came  forward  and  repeated  the 
tale  of  his  adventures  in  the  wilderness.  When  he 
came  to  tell  that  Balcombe  and  Scott,  as  it  would 
seem,  decoyed  Ramsay  to  the  scene  of  his  assassi- 
nation, I  observed  that  the  foreman  of  the  jury 
cast  on  him  a  glance  of  indignation,  and  turning 
his  eye  on  Balcombe,  rested  it  there  with  a  calm 
expression  of  respect  and  confidence.  Here  again 
was  ground  of  hope,  and  I  admired  the  sagacity  of 
Balcombe  in  trusting  his  fate  to  a  man  who,  though 
an  enemy,  knew  him  to  be  incapable  of  seeking  a 
base  and  cowardly  advantage.  Having  told  his 
tale,  Johnson  was  now  turned  over  to  Balcombe, 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  15 

who,  addressing  him  in  an  easy  conversational 
style,  said, 

"  Mr.  Johnson,  1  don't  think  I  had  seen  you  before 
that  evening  since  we  parted  on  the  frontier  ten 
years  ago,  and  I  did  not  know  you  at  all.  I  am 
surprised  that  you  knew  me." 

"  Oh!  I  know'd  you  well  enough,  for  I  had  rea- 
son to  remember  you." 

"  Why,  what  harm  had  I  ever  done  you  ?"  said 
Balcombe,  mildly. 

"  What,"  said  Johnson,  "  I  suppose  you  don't  re- 
member how  you  served  me  away  out  upon  the 
Simmirone  /" 

"  Indeed  I  do  not,"  said  Balcombe ;  "  and  I  am 
sorry  you  should  bear  malice  so  long.  And  was 
that  the  reason  you  took  part  against  me  that  night  ? 
I  remember  now — it  was  you  that  tied  my  hands. 
But  the  fellow  that  held  me  behind,  and  never  spoke 
a  word,  nor  let  me  see  his  face ;  I  suppose  he 
thought  I  would  know  him.  I  wish  you  would  tell 
me  who  that  was." 

The  witness  hesitated  and  looked  perplexed. 
Balcombe  went  on : 

"  Mr.  Johnson,  you  and  Ramsay  went  there  to- 
gether— why  did  you  not  go  with  him  down  the 
hollow  ?" 

"  Nobody  asked  me  to  go,"  said  Johnson. 

'*  And  are  you  very  sure  you  did  not  go  ? 
Well,  did  Scott  and  I  carry  Ramsay,  or  did  he  and 
the  rest  of  you  carry  us  V 


16  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

"  No,  you  just  walked  along  together  friendly 
like." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  we  were  so  friendly  ;  I 
thought  you  said  a  while  ago  that  Ramsay  vowed 
vengeance  against  me." 

The  witness  looked  a  little  diseoneerted,  and 
Balcombe  struck  at  the  opening  his  confusion 
afforded,  by  saying, 

"  Why,  Ramsay  must  have  got  more  than  his 
share  of  the  plunder  that  night;  I  suppose  he 
dropped  the  picture  and  pistol  when  he  was  shot." 

"  Ramsay  never  had  the  pistol  nor  the  picture 
neither,"  said  Johnson. 

"  You  are  very  sure,  then,  that  I  did  not  give  them 
to  him  after  we  parted  from  you" 

The  witness  looked  as  if  he  did  not  know  how 
to  take  or  answer  this  remark,  and  remained  silent. 

"  I  will  not  trouble  you  any  further,  sir,"  said 
Balcombe ;  "  and  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  will 
be  governed  by  your  own  sagacity  and  knowledge 
of  mankind  in  deciding  whether  this  witness  has 
displayed  either  the  indignation  or  surprise  that 
my  questions  might  have  occasioned  to  a  man  to 
whom  such  suggestions  were  new,  or  merely  a 
dogged  resolution  to  adhere  to  his  first  story." 

The  rest  of  the  testimony  on  behalf  of  the 
prosecution  was  pretty  much  what  it  had  been 
before ;  with  the  additional  fact  of  Keizer's  attempt 
to  escape  from  the  state.  In  bringing  forward  the 
evidence  on  the  part  of  the  accused,  it  was  thought 
advisable  to  explain  this  last  matter  at  once,  by 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  17 

calling  Mr.  Green,  the  sheriff  of  St.  Louis  county, 
to  prove  that  Keizer  went  in  quest  of  Montague, 
and  wished  to  take  him  back.  This  was  objected 
to  as  an  attempt  of  Keizer  to  make  evidence  for 
himself,  and  excluded  by  the  judge,  in  a  half  sen- 
tence, lazily  uttered  between  two  puffs  of  his  cigar. 
The  circumstances  of  the  arrest  were,  however, 
detailed,  and  the  fact  that  Keizer  had  dogged 
Montague  instead  of  avoiding  him,  could  not  be 
disguised.  It  was  now  my  turn  to  testify,  and  as 
I  had  arranged  my  history  of  the  transaction  in  my 
own  mind,  I  began  far  enough  back  to  enable  the 
jury  to  see  it  in  all  its  bearings.  But  objections  on 
the  score  of  what  was  called  irrelevancy  were  at 
hand,  when  no  other  occurred,  and  were  all  sus- 
tained. Of  all  that  I  had  to  say  of  events  antece- 
dent to  the  death  of  Ramsay,  I  was  not  permitted 
to  tell  more  than  that,  on  that  evening  Balcombe 
and  Scott  had  walked  out  towards  the  spot  where 
Johnson  said  he  had  seen  them.  The  only  effect, 
then,  of  this  part  of  my  story,  was  to  confirm  the 
testimony  of  that  wretch.  I  then  proceeded  to 
speak  of  the  interview  with  Montague.  I  was 
permitted  to  tell  what  I  had  seen,  but  as  soon  as  I 
began  to  detail  the  conversation  with  Montague,  I 
was  again  stopped,  and  told  to  confine  myself  to 
what  I  knew,  and  to  bear  in  mind  that  hearsay 
testimony  was  not  admissible. 

Balcombe  now  arose,  "  I  would  thank  the  gen- 
tleman who  makes  the  objection  to  favour  me  with 
a  definition  of  hearsay  testimony" 
B  2 


18  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

"  Hearsay  testimony?  said  Shaler,  "  is  testimony 
of  anything  that  any  other  person  but  a  party  or 
witness  present  in  court  has  been  heard  to  say." 

'*  I  think,"  replied  Balcombe, "  that  I  could  supply 
the  gentleman  with  a  better  definition." 

"  I  will  hear  it  with  pleasure,  sir,"  said  Shaler. 

"  Hearsay  testimony,"  continued  Balcombe,  *c  is 
that  by  which  one  would  prove  a  fact  by  proving 
that  some  person  not  a  party  had  asserted  that 
fact/' 

"  I  see  no  difference,"  drawled  the  judge. 

"  This  case,  sir,"  said  Balcombe, "  illustrates  the 
difference.  I  propose  to  prove  |?y  the  witness  that 
Mr.  Montague  being  asked  where  I  was,  said  that 
I  was  at  the  Rockhouse.  Do  I  offer  this  in  proof 
of  the/0cHhat  I  was  there  1  Is  that  a  fact  for  me 
to  prove  1  Does  not  the  success  of  the  prosecution 
depend  on  the  establishment  of  that  very  fact  ? 
Why  else  i&  that  pistol  here?  Why  else  was 
Johnson  sworn  to  prove  that  he  saw  me  go  that 
way  ?  Take  away  these  proofs,  and  wary  as  the 
gentleman  is  not  to  permit  a  word  that  I  have  said 
to  be  repeated,  he  would  gladly  receive  proof  that 
even  /  had  said  that  I  was  there.  I  now  say  that 
I  was  there.  Will  the  gentleman  be  hardy  enough 
to  allege  that  in  saying  this  I  am  making  testi- 
mony for  myself?  Evidence  of  the  words  of 
Montague,  then,  is  not  offered  in  proof  that  the 
words  were  true.  The  gentleman  may  have  it  that 
they  were  false  if  he  can  afford  to  put  the  matter 
on  that  footing.  It  is  offered  solely  and  simply  in 


GEORGE   BALCOMBE.  19 

proof  that  the  words  were  spoken.  The  speaking 
of  those  words  is  a  fact  on  which  I  rely,  in  con- 
nection with  his  trepidation,  and  his  possession  of 
an  article  which  must  have  been  just  before  taken 
from  Scott  or  me,  in  proof  not  of  the  fact  asserted 
by  him,  but  of  another  fact,  of  the  fact  that  he  knew 
that  I  was  there ;  from  which  I  shall  argue  that  I 
was  there  against  my  will,  and  in  the  power  of 
persons  acting  under  his  orders." 

He  ceased,  and  Shaler,  evidently  pleased  though 
baffled,  rose  to  reply,  but  was  stopped  by  the  judge, 
who  repeated  that  he  saw  no  difference,  and 
that  the  only  definition  of  hearsay  evidence  was 
that  given  by  Shaler.  Had  he  looked  at  that  gen- 
tleman as  he  said  this,  he  would  have  seen  an  ex- 
pression of  disappointment  and  disgust  which  even 
he  could  not  have  mistaken. 

While  Balcombe  was  speaking,  I  observed 
Whitehead  a  third  time  turn  in  his  chair,  and  look 
at  him  earnestly.  His  countenance  now  wore  a 
less  equivocal  expression  than  formerly.  It  bore 
marks  of  approbation,  intelligent  attention,  and  a 
kind  of  sympathy.  He  rose,  and  placing  himself 
so  that,  with  a  slight  change  of  position,  he  could 
face  either  Balcombe  or  the  court,  he  said,  "  I 
have  watched  the  progress  of  this  case,  sir,  with  a 
mind  passing  from  a  state  of  profound  indifference 
to  one  of  the  highest  interest.  I  should  have  more 
cause  than  I  have  to  regret  a  course  of  life  which 
has  hardened  my  heart  and  made  it  callous  to  the 
misfortunes  of  others,  if  I  could  look  with  com- 


20  GEORGE   BALCOMBE. 

posure  to  the  possible  fate  of  a  brave  and  honour- 
able man,  involved  in  the  snare  of  a  base  con- 
spiracy, and  hunted  to  destruction  by  the  best 
talents  which  could  be  employed  against  him.  I 
have  so  far  been  silent  out  of  respect  for  that  deli- 
cate sense  of  honour,  that  noble  confidence  of 
innocence,  which  was  unwilling  to  accept  an  ac- 
quittal rendered  equivocal  by  professional  aid. 
Nor  would  1  now  offend  those  generous  feelings  by 
an  offer  of  aid,  except  in  strict  subordination  to  the 
pleasure  of  one  who  has  so  far  conducted  his  de- 
fence with  ability  not  less  distinguished  than  its 
delicacy  and  propriety.  On  behalf  of  such  a  man, 
sir,  I  would  not  presume  to  make  a  point  which 
his  judgment  and  his  feelings  did  not  alike  approve. 
But  having  himself  made  one,  I  trust  he  will  pardon 
me  for  asking  his  permission  to  offer  a  few  remarks 
in  furtherance  of  his  own." 

He  paused  ;  and  turning  to  Balcornbe,  awaited 
his  reply  with  an  air  of  lofty  deference,  which  im- 
posed silence  and  awe  on  all  present. 

"  You  have  my  thanks,  sir,"  said  Balcombe,  re- 
suming his  quiet  air  and  tone,  though  with  a  coun- 
tenance not  void  of  emotion — "you  have  my 
thanks,  sir,  for  the  offer  of  your  assistance,  and  yet 
more  for  the  manner  of  it,  and  under  the  restric- 
tions suggested  by  yourself,  I  accept  it." 

"  1  am  flattered  by  the  acceptance,  sir,"  said 
Whitehead.  Then  turning  to  the  court,  "  I  do  not 
propose,"  said  he, "  to  call  upon  the  court  to  re- 
consider the  question  just  now  decided,  I  will  not 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  21 

say  hastily,  but  without  thought.  Not  having  been 
heard  by  counsel,  as  he  has  a  right  to  be,  Mr.  Bal- 
combe  might  not  only  ask,  but  demand  a  recon- 
sideration. But  it  would  require  a  reach  of  pre- 
sumption of  which  I  am  incapable  to  flatter  my- 
self that  I  can  add  anything  to  the  clearness  and 
conclusiveness  of  the  argument  you  have  just 
heard  from  himself.  He  who  cannot  understand 
it  will  never  understand  the  simplest  rule  of  gram- 
mar or  arithmetic.  He  who  is  unconvinced  by  it 
will  yield  to  no  conviction  that  doe§  not  lead  him 
to  the  gratification  of  his  own  wishes.  He  who  is 
not  moved  by  the  exhibition  we  have  seen  this  day 
of  the  quiet  dignity  of  innocence,  of  honour,  can- 
dour, sagacity,  and  ability,  struggling  in  the  toils 
of  art,  or  crushed  beneath  the  dead  fall  of  dulness, 
will  never  shake  off  the  torpor  of  his  selfish  apathy 
until  the  last  trump  shall  rouse  him  from  his  last 
sleep. 

"  My  purpose  in  rising,  sir,  is  to  call  the  attention 
of  the  jury  to  what  has  just  passed,  and  to  prepare 
their  minds  to  assign  it  its  due  place,  and  its  due 
weight.  You,  gentlemen,  are  judges  of  law  and 
of  fact.  The  facts  you  obtain  by  testimony,  and 
that  is  made  up  of  what  is  sworn  by  witnesses 
which  you  hear,  and  of  the  deportment  of  the 
witnesses  under  examination,  and  of  the  defendant 
under  trial,  which  you  see  with  your  own  eyes.  It 
is  for  this  reason  that  the  accused  has  a  right  to  be 
confronted  with  the  witnesses,  and  the  jury,  and 
to  confront  them  with  each  other.  Truths  are  thus 


22  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

made  manifest  to  the  senses  which  no  language  can 
communicate.  And  shall  you  believe  that  the 
wisdom  of  the  law  which  requires  that  these  sources 
of  truth  shall  be  opened  to  you,  forbids  you  to  drink 
of  them  ?  Shall  you  be  told  that  the  exhibition  of 
character  which  has  this  day  borne  to  the  mind  of 
every  other  person  a  conviction  of  the  defendant's 
innocence,  is  testimony  to  all  but  you  ?  Is  it  re- 
quired of  you  to  condemn  as  a  felon  a  man  of 
whom  all  that  we  have  seen  and  heard  here  has 
left  no  doubt  in  the  mind  of  me,  a  stranger,  and 
can  leave  no  doubt  in  your  minds,  that  if  unerring 
wisdom  should  designate  the  man  of  all  in  this 
presence  most  worthy  to  sit  in  judgment  on  all 
the  rest,  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  would  be  that  man. 
Gentlemen,  the  whole  deportment  of  the  prisonef 
is  in  evidence  before  you ;  and  as  it  is  the  most 
interesting,  so  it  is  the  most  satisfactory  evidence 
laid  before  you  this  day. 

"I  do  not  propose  to  argue  before  you  the  question 
just  now  decided,  were  it  admissible.  I  am  here 
without  books,  and  could  only  add  my  testimony 
that  the  law  is  as  was  stated  by  Mr.  Balcombe. 
To  his  argument  I  could  add  nothing.  Nothing 
can  deepen  your  conviction  of  its  truth.  Nothing 
can  ever  make  you  doubt  that  the  testimony 
offered  was  not  only  lawful,  but  the  only  testimony 
by  which  this  mystery  of  iniquity  can  ever  be  un- 
ravelled. Nothing  can  ever  make  you  doubt  that 
Mr.  Balcombe  was  prepared  to  give  such  testi- 
mony. My  only  purpose  now  is  to  premonish 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  23 

you  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  law  requiring  you  to 
reject  these  convictions,  derived  from  that  which  is 
testimony  in  the  eyes  of  the  law.  I  beg  you  to 
bear  these  things  in  mind,  and  to  hold  yourselves 
prepared  to  assign  them  their  due  weight,  when 
the  proper  time  shall  come  for  the  last  appeal  to 
you,  the  final  judges  of  law  and  fact.  That  ap- 
peal will  be  confidently  made  ;  for  I  shall  always 
appeal  with  confidence  to  honour  and  intelligence, 
even  in  an  enemy,  from  the  stolid  indifference  of 
apathy  and  dulness." 

He  ceased,  but  continued  standing,  and  having 
with  the  last  words  glanced  his  eye  from  the  fore- 
man to  the  judge,  it  remained  fixed  on  him  with  an 
expression  of  cool  scorn. 

"  Why—really— Mr.  Whitehead,"  said  that  wor- 
thy, "  this  is  a — most  extraordinary — "  He  paused 
and  looked  around.  As  soon  as  he  began  to  speak 
Whitehead  threw  himself  into  his  chair,  and  giving 
his  shoulder  to  the  judge,  fixed  his  eye  steadily  on 
Balcombe.  His  honour  looked  to  Shaler  for  en- 
couragement, but  found  none.  In  every  other 
countenance  he  must  have  sought  in  vain  for  any 
expression  but  that  of  contempt.  He  remained 
silent,  lay  back  in  his  chair,  and  puffed  his  cigar. 

A  momentary  feeling  of  triumph  passed  across 
my  mind  at  this  instant,  but  it  soon  gave  place  to 
the  thought  of  the  aspect  of  the  case,  as  seen  in  the 
facts  proved  before  the  jury.  The  dead  body  of  a 
man  slaughtered  in  this  obscure  place,  and  thrown 
into  the  river,  as  no  one  could  doubt,  by  the  hand 


**'  t 


24  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

of  Keizer ;  Balcombe's  pistol,  and  Scott's  picture 
found  at  the  spot ;  the  enmity  between  Balcombe 
and  Ramsay,  and  the  fact  that  the  latter  had  fallen 
in  with  the  former  accompanied  by  Scott,  and  that 
the  three  were  seen  going  together  towards  the 
place  about  the  time  the  deed  must  have  been 
done  ;  these  facts  made  up  the  case  on  the  part  of 
the  prosecution.  The  exculpatory  evidence  was 
frittered  down  to  the  single  circumstance  of  the 
possession  of  the  casket  by  Montague,  which 
merely  showed  that  he  and  Balcombe  had  met. 
What  hope  remained  but  that  the  jury,  with  the 
sturdy  independence  on  which  the  men  of  the 
West  pride  themselves,  should  stand  out  in  the  be- 
lief that  there  was  a  something  in  the  business  not 
yet  understood  ?  On  this  slender  thread  hung  the 
destiny  of  my  noble  friend,  and  into  this  peril  he 
had  been  brought  by  his  zeal  in  my  service.  I 
could  not  look  at  him,  especially  after  I  had  told 
the  only  other  fact  I  was  permitted  to  mention  ; 
the  damning  fact  that  the  blood  of  Ramsay  was 
yet  warm  when  I  saw  it. 

Balcombe  was  now  asked  if  he  had  anything 
farther  to  offer,  and  replied  in  the  negative.  At 
this  moment  an  Indian  came  forward,  who  proved 
to  be  our  old  acquaintance  Billy  John.  He  looked 
around  him  with  an  undisturbed  countenance  ;  but 
as  his  cold  eye  fell  on  Balcombe,  it  rested  there 
for  a  moment  with  an  appearance  of  satisfaction, 
and  he  immediately  said,  striking  his  breast  with 
the  point  of  his  finger,  *'  Me,  me  kill  him  man."  He 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  25 

He  then  folded  his  arms,  and  stood  patiently 
waiting  what  might  be  required  of  him. 

"  What  does  the  fellow  want  ?"  said  Shaler. 

"  He  wants  to  be  sworn,"  said  Keizer.  "  Swear 
him." 

"  Does  he  speak  English  ?"  asked  Shaler. 

"  Oh  yes ;  me  'peak  'Merican." -4il-i  I 

"  Do  you  understand  the  nature  of  an  oath  ?" 
inquired  Shaler.  No  answer.  The  question  was 
repeated. 

"  Not  know — not  unnestan',"  said  the  Indian, 
shaking  his  head. 

"  It  appears,"  said  Shaler  to  the  court,  "  that  he 
does  not  understand  the  nature  of  an  oath." 

11  Or  the  meaning  of  your  question — which  T* 
said  Balcombe. 

Then,  after  speaking  a  few  words  in  a  foreign 
tongue,  he  added, 

"  If  you  repeat  your  question  now,  sir,  you  will 
probably  obtain  an  answer." 

"  I  suppose  so,  sir,"  said  Shaler,  sarcastically, 
"after—"  Then,  suddenly  checking  himself,  he 
added,  in  a  tone  of  deep  respect,  "  I  beg  pardon, 
sir ;  I  was  going  to  make  a  remark  which  even 
my  situation  would  not  justify." 

He  then  repeated  the  question,  to  which  the 
Indian  replied, 

"  Great  Spirit  hate  liar.  Me  call  him  hear — me 
tell  lie — he  very  mad." 

"  And  what  do  you  think  he  will  do  with  you  if 
you  tell  a  lie  ?" 

VOL.  II. C 


26  GEORGE   BALCOMBE. 

"  Oh,  he  do  me  very  bad,"  replied  Billy  John. 

"  But  what  will  he  do  ?" 

"  Not  know,"  said  the  simple  savage. 

"  And  what  will  become  of  you  when  you  die  ?" 

"Oh,  good  man  go  to  fine  country.  Plenty 
deer — plenty  buffalo — plenty  elk — plenty  bear  : 
shoot — good  rifle — never  miss." 

"  But  what  will  become  of  you  ?" 

"  Not  know,"  said  the  Indian. 

"  He  has  no  idea  of  a  future  state  of  rewards  and 
punishments,  sir,  and  cannot  be  sworn,"  said  Shaler 
to  the  court. 

The  judge  then  began  to  echo  this  remark,  when 
Balcombe  said, 

"Give  me  leave,  if  you  please,  sir,  to  ask  if  he 
believes  the  Great  Spirit  will  do  him  bad,  as  he  calls 
it,  after  he  dies." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  Indian,  "  very  much — very 
bad." 

"But  what  do  you  think  he  will  do?"  said 
Shaler. 

"  Not  know,"  said  he. 

Shaler  looked  at  Balcombe,  who  said,  quietly, 
«  Do  you  ?" 

The  matter  was  now  left  to  the  court,  and  it 
was  decided  that  he  might  be  sworn. 

After  taking  the  oath,  he  was  asked  if  he  knew 
•who  killed  Andrew  Ramsay,  to  which  he  replied 
in  the  negative.  If  he  knew  anything  of  his  death : 
no. 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  27 

"  Then  what  does  he  know  about  the  matter  ?" 
said  Shaler. 

"Everything  but  the  man's  name,"  said  Bal- 
combe  ;  who  now  asked  him  if  he  knew  who  killed 
a  man  at  the  Rockhouse  on  a  certain  night,  whose 
body  was  thrown  into  the  river.  To  this  he  an- 
swered, "  Me,  me,  me  kill  him." 

"  And  where  was  I  at  the  time  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  there  too.  He  lie  close  to  the  rock — 
him  hand  tied." 

"  Another  accomplice,  sir/'  said  Shaler.  "  I 
submit,  sir,  that  we  might  as  well  have  examined 
Keizer,  while  we  believed  him  to  have  been  the 
perpetrator  of  the  murder,  as  examine  this  fellow 
who  declares  that  he  did  the  deed.  We  had  only 
mistaken  the  instrument,  it  seems,  sir ;  and  this 
disclosure  just  makes  such  a  change  in  the  case  as 
if  we  had  found  that  a  different  weapon  had  been 
used  from  that  supposed." 

"Such  a  weapon,"  said  Balcombe,  dryly,  "as  a 
man  may  use  with  his  hands  tied." 

Affecting  not  to  heed  the  interruption,  Shaler 
was  going  on  to  propose  to  cut  short  the  testimony 
of  the  witness  by  committing  him,  when  Keizer 
spoke  : 

"  It  is  not  worth  while,"  said  he,  "  to  be  putting 
the  poor  fellow  to  trouble  when  there's  no  use  for 
him.  Nobody  wanted  him  here  ;  but  then  he's  a 
truehearted  fellow,  that  would  not  let  the  colonel 
suffer  for  what  he  had  done.  Sheriff,  call  Sana 
Todd," 


/CO  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

I  started  at  this  name,  which  I  remembered  to 
have  heard  before  as  that  of  one  of  Montague's  con- 
federates. It  was  repeated  by  the  sheriff;  and  a 
man  dressed  a  good  deal  after  the  same  fashion  with 
John  himself,  but  tall,  gaunt,  and  wolfish  in  his  as- 
pect, made  his  appearance.  He  stepped  boldly  for- 
ward at  once  and  was  sworn. 


CHAPTER   III. 

I'll  be  no  longer  guilty  of  this  sin. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

JOHN,  who  now  acted  as  spokesman,  asked  the 
witness  to  tell  what  he  knew  about  Andrew  Ram- 
say's death. 

"  Why,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  I  know  pretty 
much  all  about  it  from  first  to  last ;  but  nobody 
knew  that  I  did  but  them  that  would  never  tell ; 
and  I  would  not  have  been  here,  only  I  could  not 
bear  the  thoughts  of  a  good  man  coming  to  the 
gallows,  when  he  wasn't  no  more  to  blame  than  a 
child." 

"  Well,  well,  sir,"  said  Shaler,  "  we  want  none 
of  your  reasons  or  opinions  ^  give  us  your  facts  if 
you  please,  and  as  you  know  all  about  it,  tell  us  all 
about  it." 


GEORGE  BALCOMBE.  29 

•'  Well,  that's  what  I'm  a  going  to  do,  stranger, 
and  you  may  as  well  let  me  do  it  my  own  way. 
First  and  last  you'll  get  it  all,  whether  you  like  it 
or  no,  and  you  won't  get  it  no  faster  than  it 
comes." 

He  then  reflected  a  moment  and  went  on : 

"It  was  a  Saturday  morning  of  the  great  camp- 
meeting  there  near  the  village,  I  was  standing 
sorter  out  upon  the  edge  of  the  crowd,  about  eleven 
o'clock  maybe,  when  this  same  Ramsay  (least 
ways,  that's  what  he  called  his  name — anyhow, 
the  man  that  was  killed  that  night)  he  comes  along 
by  me.  And  he  stands  and  studies  a  while,  and 
then  says  he, 

"  *  Ain't  your  name  Sam  Todd  V 

"  *  I  passes  for  him,'  says  I. 

"  *  Well,'  says  he, '  I  want  to  speak  with  you.* 

**So  with  that  we  walks  out,  and  says-he, 

'* '  What  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about  is  another 
man's  business,  and  he  told  me  about  you,  and  told 
me  to  find  you,  and  for  us  to  go  to  him  together.' 

"  *  Who  is  he  ?'  says  I. 

" '  I'm  a  stranger  in  these  parts,'  says  he,  *  and 
I  cannot  say  I  know  his  name  J  only  I  have  seen 
him  here  mighty  busy,  and  mighty  great  among 
the  preachers,  ever  since  the  meeting  began.' 

" '  Is  he  here  now  V  says  I. 

"'No,'  says  he,  'and  it  wasn't  here  we  were  to 
meet ;'  but  if  you'll  go  with  me,  I'll  carry  you  to 
the  place.' 

"  So  we  started  off  together,  and  as  we  went  I 
c  2 


30 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


asked  him  if  he  knew  what  sort  of  business  it  was. 
And  says  he, 

"  *  No ;  I  can't  say  rightly  as  I  do  know ;  only 
it's  something  in  our  line,  sorter  ruffianlike.' 

" '  Well,'  says  I,  *  I  don't  know  that  I  have  any 
objection  to  that,  so  as  he  pays  me  for  it  well/ 
'Cause  you  see,  gentlemen,  if  any  man  gets  me 
into  danger,  and  maybe  into  trouble,  and  I  have  to 
get  out  of  it  as  I  can,  he  must  pay  me  for  it ;  and 
if  he  saves  his  skin,  why  his  purse  must  suffer. 
So  we  goes  along  until  we  gets  almost  to  the  head 
of  the  hollow  that  leads  down  to  the  Rockhouse, 
and  I  sees  a  man  setting  upon  a  stump,  with  a 
book  in  his  hand  reading  mighty  seriouslike.  And 
when  we  came  up  to  him  I  saw  it  was  the  man  I 
hear  them  call  Mr.  Montague.  So  when  we  came 
to  where  he  was,  he  just  raised  his  eyes  from  his 
book,  and  then  he  looks  at  it  again  and  turns  down 
a  corner  of  the  leaf  and  shuts  it ;  and  then  he  looks 
at  Ramsay  and  then  at  me,  and  we  howd'yed ;  and 
he  looks  down  again  and  studies  a  whiler  and  then 
he  looks  at  me,  and  says  he — " 

"  Stop,  sir,  if  you  please,"  said  Shaler. 

The  witness  did  stop,  but  it  was  only  to  square 
himself  around  to  Shaler,  on  whom  he  looked  with 
a  countenance  of  displeased  surprise. 

"I  perceive,  sir,"  said  Shaler,  addressing  the 
court,  "  that  here  is  to  be  another  attempt  to  palm 
upon  us  the  words  of  this  everlasting  Mr.  Mon- 
tague as  evidence.  Now,  sir,  as  the  decision  of 
the  court  upon  that  subject  has  been  already  ex- 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  31 

pressed,  I  hope  the  witness  may  be  admonished 
not  to  repeat  anything  that  Mr.  Montague  said." 

I  never  saw  Balcombe  so  much  disconcerted  as 
at  the  cool  effrontery  of  this  objection.  He  re- 
mained silent  a  moment,  as  I  thought,  chiding 
down  his  impatience,  and  endeavouring  to  recover 
the  calm  self-command  which  he  had  hitherto  dis- 
played. Before  he  qould  accomplish  this,  the 
judge  (who  doubtless  Considered  the  point  as  iden- 
tical with  that  he  had  already  decided)  had  time 
to  rouse  himself,  and  to  drawl  out  to  the  witness, 

"  The  court  has  already  decided,  that  nothing 
that  Mr.  Montague  has  said  is  evidence  in  this 
case." 

As  soon  as  he  began  to  speak,  the  witness  went 
to  the  right-about  and  faced  him,  the  expression  of 
his  savage  countenance  changing,  as  he  listened,  to 
one  made  up  of  ferocity  and  amazement.  White- 
head,  at  the  same  moment,  sprung  to  his  feet,  bent 
on  the  judge  a  look  of  withering  scorn  and  indig- 
nation, and  seemed  about  to  speak,  when  the  calm 
voice  of  Balcombe  was  heard,  replying  to  what 
had  been  said  with  this  question : 

"  Is  it  the  pleasure  of  the  court  to  say  that  the 
words  of  Montague,  spoken  in  conversation  with 
the  deceased,  are  not  to  be  received  ?" 

Whitehead,  who  had  turned  to  Balcombe  at  the 
sound  of  his  voice,  now  again  set  his  eye  upon  the 
judge  with  an  expression  of  derision  and  curiosity, 
as  if  he  would  have  said,  "  I  wonder  what  the  fool 
will  say  to  that?"  The  apathy  of  the  judge 


32  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

seemed  to  be  somewhat  moved  by  his  vexation,  at 
being  thus  called  to  what  was  to  him  a  task  of 
thought,  and  he  began  a  sort  of  puzzling  attempt 
to  say  something,  when  the  circuit  attorney  re- 
quested to  be  heard. 

I  have  said  nothing  as  yet  of  this  gentleman. 
He  seemed  a  plain,  unpretending,  quiet  man,  who 
appeared  to  think  his  duty  required  of  him  nothing 
more  than  a  proper  attention  to  the  formalities  of 
the  prosecution.  What  else  I  wish  to  say  of  him, 
may  be  given  in  his  own  words. 

"  Heretofore,  may  it  please  the  court,"  said  he, 
"  I  have  acted  but  a  secondary  part  in  this  prose- 
cution. I  hope  my  reasons  have  not  been  misun- 
derstood. While  the  testimony  in  this  case  pointed 
to  the  accused,  and  to  them  alone,  as  the  perpe- 
trators of  the  murder  of  Ramsay,  it  was  my  duty 
to  accept  of  any  aid  in  furtherance  of  the  prosecu- 
tion. I  was,  therefore  glad  to  avail  myself  of  the 
distinguished  abilities  of  the  gentleman,  who  has 
been  employed,  as  I  understand,  by  this  same  Mr. 
Montague,  to  assist  in  conducting  it.  It  became 
me,  sir,  in  this  state  of  things,  to  postpone  myself 
to  him,  and  to  permit  him  to  take  that  lead  in  the 
examination  of  witnesses,  to  which  his  readiness, 
dexterity,  and  address  entitled  him.  I  saw,  in- 
deed, but  I  trust  I  saw  it  without  envy,  that  his 
conspicuous  display  of  these  qualities  has  thrown 
me  quite  in  the  shade ;  but  I  hope  it  will  not  be 
imputed  to  me  as  a  fault,  that  I  have  not  permitted 
any  petty  vanity  of  mine,  or  childish  impatience  of 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  33 

his  manifest  superiority,  to  embarrass  the  prosecu- 
tion by  interfering  with  him.  But  the  aspect  of 
this  case  is  suddenly  changed,  and  I  am  reminded 
by  what  I  have  just  heard,  that  while  I  represent 
the  state,  Mr.  Shaler  does  but  represent  Mr.  Mon- 
tague. He  represents  a  man,  who,  for  some  cause 
which  I  do  not  presume  to  inquire  into,  vehemently 
desires  the  punishment  of  the  defendants,  whether 
guilty  or  no. 

"  I  represent  the  state,  which  desires  the  pun- 
ishment of  the  guilty  only,  and  yet  more  earnestly 
desires  the  acquittal  of  the  innocent.  Now,  sir, 
as  the  testimony  now  offered  seems  like  to  throw 
new  light  upon  this  subject,  as  it  may  probably 
show  Mr.  Montague  to  me  in  a -light  which  may 
change  the  relation  of  an  ally  into  that  of  an  antag- 
onist, by  making  it  my  duty  to  prosecute  him  for 
this  or  some  other  offence,  and  as  I  have  no  doubt 
that  the  testimony  offered  is  not  only  such  as  the 
law  permits,  but  requires,  I  find  it  my  duty  to 
withdraw  the  objection  to  it,  made  by  my  friend 
Mr.  Shaler.  My  right  to  do  so,  sir,  he  will  not 
question.  He  will  see  that  the  alliance  between 
myself  as  the  representative  of  the  state  and  him 
as  the  representative  of  Mr.  Montague,  must  ter- 
minate. If,  on  his  own  behalf,  as  a  friend  of  jus- 
tice, as  a  curious  and  skilful  investigator  of  truth, 
he  feels  at  liberty  to  give  me  his  aid  in  unravelling 
this  mystery,  guch  aid,  guided  and  controlled  by 
his  own  sense  of  honour  and  love  of  virtue,  I  will 


34 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


thankfully  receive.     His  further  co-operation  as 
counsel  for  Mr.  Montague  I  must  reject." 

Shaler  now  said,  in  a  few  words,  that  the  right 
of  the  circuit  attorney  to  disclaim  his  further  inter- 
ference as  an  ally  was  unquestionable.  "  As  to 
interfering  in  any  other  character,"  continued  he, 
"  I  have  no  call  to  do  it.  I  am  functus  officio.  I 
am  here  by  contract  to  prosecute,  not  to  defend. 
Should  a  further  investigation  of  this  matter  im- 
plicate Mr.  Montague,  that  will  be  a  new  case, 
and  the  subject  of  a  new  bargain.  As  to  aiding 
the  circuit  attorney  in  the  further  investigation  of 
the  case,  as  an  individual,  though  no  man  likes  to 
work  at  his  trade  without  wages,  I  would  gladly 
do  so,  were  it  necessary.  But,  sir,  that  gentleman 
needs  no  aid  ;  and  if  he  did,  I  much  mistake  if  he 
should  ask  any  more  efficient  than  he  has.  Let 
him  give  Mr.  Balcombe  a  fair  field  and  a  clear  sky, 
unembarrassed  by  technical  quibbles,  and  my  life 
upon  it  he  will  get  at  the  whole  truth." 

He  sat  down,  and  the  witness  was  directed  to 
proceed. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  he,  "  I  am  to  tell  all  about  it." 
"Oh  yes,"  said  the  circuit  attorney ;  "  tell  all." 
"  It's  well  you  give  me  leave,"  said  the  witness, 
11  because  I  came  here  to  do  it,  and  flesh  and  blood 
should  not  have  kept  me  from  it.     Well,  I  believe 
that  gentleman  stopped  me,  the  minute  I  began  to 
talk  about  what  Montague  said ;  so  there's  where 
I  left  off.    Well,  says  he,  *  Is  your  name  Samuel 
Todd  ?'    So  I  told  him  it  was. 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  35 

" '  Well,'  says  he,  •  I  have  heard  of  you,  and  you 
are  the  sort  of  man  I  want.' 

"  Says  I,  *  It  depends  upon  your  business/  says 
I,  '  whether  I'll  suit  you  or  no,  'cause  I  hain't  got 
no  book  laming.' 

"  *  No,'  says  he,  '  but  you  are  a  brave  man.' 

"  *  If  any  man  disputes  that,'  says  I,  *  maybe  he'd 
better  try  me.' 

" '  Well/  says  he,  *  a  brave  man  is  the  sort  I 
want.' 

"  So,  gentlemen,  he  goes  on  and  tells  us  that  he 
had  a  tract  of  land  in  Virginia,  and  there  was  a 
fellow  that  had  got  hold  of  the  deed,  and  would  not 
let  him  have  it,  and  there  was  another  that  backed 
him  in  it ;  and  they  wanted  to  make  him  pay  four 
thousand  dollars,  I  think  it  was,  before  they'd  give 
it  up.  So  he  said  he  had  seen  them  and  agreed  to 
pay  the  money,  and  they  had  appointed  to  meet 
him  at  that  same  place  about  sunset,  and  he  was 
to  give  them  his  bond  for  the  money,  and  they  were 
to  give  him  the  deed. 

"  *  So/  says  he,  '  what  I  want  is  for  you  two  to 
be  lying  about  here,  and  to  hide  yourselves,  and 
after  you  see  me  get  the  deed  I  want  you  to  creep 
up,  and  seize  them,  and  keep  them  until  I  can  get 
away.' 

"  'Oh/  says  I, '  that's  easy  done.' 

"  *  And  more  than  that/  says  he,  *  I  cannot  start 
to  Virginia  before  Monday/  (that  was  Saturday, 
you  see,  gentlemen,)  « and  if  I  don't  get  at  least  a 
week's  start  of  them,  they'll  be  after  me,  and  put 


36  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

me  to  trouble  before  I  can  get  the  deed  recorded. 
So/  says  he, '  I  want  them  kept  somewhere  out  of 
the  way  for  a  week  or  ten  days.' 

"  *  Well/  says  I,  '  I  think  we  can  manage  that 
matter  handy  too.  Because/  says  I,  *  here's  the 
Rockhouse  right  down  here  on  the  river  bank,  and 
we  can  keep  them  there  till  we  get  a  boat ;  and 
then  there's  the  mouth  of  the  Osage  most  just 
across  the  river,  and  we  can  run  up  that,  and  be 
outside  of  the  settlements  before  day.7 

" '  Well/  says  he,  '  that  will  do  exactly ;  but 
I'm  a  thinking/  says  he,  '  you'll  want  more  help.' 

" «  That  depends/  says  I,  <  on  what  sort  of  men 
they  are ;  though  I  have  a  notion/  says  I,  *  that 
this  man  and  I  ought  to  be  enough  for  any  two 
common  men,  when  they  wasn't  a  looking  for  us 
before  we  got  hold  of  them.' 

" '  Well/  says  he,  '  one  of  them  is  little  more 
than  a  boy,  just  come  from  Virginia,  but  I  know 
his  blood,  and  I  reckon  he's  right  good  pluck,  and 
the  other  man  is  George  Balcombe.' 

"  *  That  makes  a  difference/  says  I, { 'cause,  you 
see,  Colonel  Balcombe  is  equal  to  any  two  com- 
mon men,  take  him  any  way  you  will ;  and  more 
than  that/  says  I,  *  it's  right  hard  to  catch  him  with 
both  eyes  shut  at  once.' 

"  *  I  think/  says  he,  *  the  best  way  will  be  to 

have  force  enough  to  master  them  at  once,  'cause/ 

says  he, '  I  don't  want  nobody  to  be  hurt  in  the 

scuffle.' 

•".I'm  mighty  glad  to  hear  that/  says  I,  'be- 


GEORGE  BALCOMBE.  37 

cause  Colonel  Balcombe  is  a  good  man,  for  all  he 
don't  like  me,  and  I  should  not  like  to  do  him  any 
harm.' 

"  And  with  that  I  sees  Ramsay  look  right  hard 
at  me,  and  then  he  and  Montague  looks  at  one 
another,  but  they  never  said  nothing,  nor  I  neither. 
So,  thinks  I,  maybe  there's  more  between  these 
fellows  than  they  want  me  to  know.  So  I  speaks 
up,  and  says  I,  '  Maybe  you  are  right  enough,  so 
I'll  just  speak  to  my  brother  to  help  us/  says  I, 
*  for  he's  a  man  I  can  depend  on  to  do  anything 
that's  got  manhood  in  it.' 

"  So  to  make  a  long  story  short,  gentlemen,  he 
agreed  to  give  Ramsay  and  me  a  hundred  dollars 
a  piece,  and  I  was  to  make  the  best  bargain  I  could 
for  him  with  Jim,  and  if  nothing  else  would  do,  he 
was  to  have  a  hundred  dollars  too.  So  with  that 
we  parted,  and  I  went  one  way,  and  he  and  Ram- 
say went  towards  the  carnpmeeting. 

"  So  that  evening,  gentlemen,  an  hour  by  sun  or 
so,  Jim  and  I  goes  there,  and  we  looked  about  and 
fixed  ourselves  to  hide,  and  after  a  while  here 
comes  Ramsay  and  another  fellow  with  him.  And 
I  did  not  so  much  like  that,  'cause  we  three  was 
enough  for  any  two  men,  and  they  had  not  said 
nothing  about  nobody  else,  and  I  sorter  misdoubted 
that  maybe  they  wanted  to  do  Colonel  Balcombe 
some  mischief.  And  I  looked  at  the  fellow,  and 
an  ill-looking  devil  (axing  the  court's  pardon,  gerfe, 
tlemen)  he  was." 

VOL.    II. D 


38  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

"  Did  you  know  him  ?"  said  the  commonwealth's 
attorney. 

"  I  never  seed  him  before,  to  my  knowing,  sir, 
and  he  wasn't  a  man  to  forget  easy  ;  but  it  was  the 
same  fellow  that  swore  he  seed  Ramsay,  and  Col- 
onel Balcombe,  and  Mr.  Scott  together." 

"  Was  that  the  man  ?"  said  the  commonwealth's 
attorney,  pointing  to  Johnson,  who,  having  tho- 
roughly besotted  himself  since  his  examination, 
had  now  blundered  into  court. 

"  That's  the  very  fellow,"  said  Todd.  "  Well, 
sir,  he  was  there  too,  and  as  I  said  I  did  not  much 
like  it,  but  we  had  not  much  time  to  talk,  and  then 
again  I  thought  that  Jim  and  I,  with  Colonel  Bal- 
combe  to  plan  for  us,  was  more  than  a  match  for 
them  two  fellows  anyhow.  So  I  made  myself 
easy,  and  we  all  hid  ourselves  ;  and  after  a  while 
here  comes  the  colonel  and  another  man  with  him. 
And  when  they  got  to  the  place,  Montague  he 
comes  from  right  t'other  way  from  where  we 
were,  and  the  colonel  and  the  other  man  stood 
right  facing  him,  so  their  backs  were  to  us. 

"So  when  they  come  up,  after  a  while  the 
strange  man  hands  Montague  something,  and  he 
holds  it  out  before  him  to  look  at  it,  sorter  like 
making  a  sign  to  us,  and  with  that  we  starts  and 
crawls  up  and  seizes  them.  And  Ramsay  and  Jim 
gets  hold  of  the  stranger,  and  Johnson  and  I  gets 
hold  of  the  colonel,  'cause  you  see,  gentlemen,  our 
plan  was,  if  we  saw  any  signs  of  mischief,  to  let  go 
all  holds  and  take  their  part.  So  I  holds  the  colo- 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  39 

nel's  arms  behind  him,  for  I  did  not  want  him  to 
see  me,  and  I  slips  a  rope  round  his  arms,  and 
made  a  sort  of  half  knot,  and  so  I  held  on  like  as  if 
I  had  tied  him  fast,  till  Johnson  went  before  him 
and  tied  his  hands.  And  by  this  time  I  saw  that 
they  did  not  mean  to  hurt  him,  then,  nohow,  and 
then  I  ties  my  knot  too.  And  when  we  had  him 
fast,  then  Montague  began,  and  such  a  saucing  he 
gave  him  you  never  heard.  And  after  he  had 
jawed  at  him  a  spell,  (and  the  colonel  he  never  said 
a  word,)  says  he, 

"  '  Boys,  you  know  what  to  do  with  them  ;  and, 
Mr.  Balcombe,'  says  he,  1 1  wish  you  a  pleasant 
journey.' 

"So  with  that,  gentlemen,  he  goes  away,  and  we 
takes  the  men  down  the  hollow  towards  the  Rock- 
house.  And  when  we  got  about  halfway,  we 
comes  to  a  fire  at  a  sort  of  a  camp  where  John 
Keizer  and  some  Indians  had  been  staying,  and  by 
this  time  it  was  almost  dark,  and  says  Ramsay, 

"  f  Suppose  we  stop  here  a  while  ;  'cause/  says 
he,  *  I  want  to  see  what  these  fellows  have  got  in 
their  pockets.' 

"  And  so,  gentlemen,  I  thought  it  wasn't  no  time 
then  to  make  a  fuss  with  the  fellows,  and  I  did  not 
want  the  colonel  to  hear  my  voice ;  so  I  says  no- 
thing, 'cause,  gentlemen,  you  see  I  thought  after 
all  was  done,  it  would  not  be  too  late  to  rob  them 
villains  again ;  and,  anyhow,  what  I  got  the  colo- 
nel could  get  it  again,  my  share  and  Jim's  too. 

"  So  they  both  had  some  money,  and  the  colonel 


40 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


he  had  a  pair  of  first-rate  pistols,  and  a  capital 
dirk.  So  Jim  and  I  knew  the  dirk  and  pistols,  and 
that  the  colonel  had  had  them  with  him  in  places 
where  a  man  learns  to  love  his  fighting-irons ;  and 
I  seed  the  picture  was  a  mighty  pretty  girl,  and  I 
thought  the  boy  would  hate  to  lose  that ;  so  I  takes 
the  picture  and  one  pistol  for  my  share,  and  Jim  he 
takes  the  other  and  the  dirk  for  his,  and  we  let  the 
other  fellows  have  the  money.  And  after  that  was 
done,  we  went  along  down  to  the  Rockhouse,  and 
Jim  he  starts  off  a  little  way  down  the  river  for  a 
boat,  and  the  rest  of  us  staid  there. 

"  So  we  sets  down  pretty  close  to  the  rock,  and 
the  colonel  was  next  to  me,  and  the  young  man 
next  to  him,  and  the  others  were  the  other  side ; 
for  you  see,  gentlemen,  I  chose  to  keep  near  the 
colonel  for  fear. 

"  So  we  had  not  been  there  long  before  we  hears 
a  whistle  like  a  rifleman's  whistle,  and  I  guessed 
that  minute  it  was  John  Keizer  and  his  Indians. 
And  I  knew  they  wasn't  men  to  fool  with,  and  I 
did  not  want  to  hurt  nobody,  especially  John  ;  and 
so,  gentlemen,  I  just  determined  if  they  fell  in  with 
us  to  clear  out  and  be  off.  But  before  I  had  time 
to  think  as  much,  the  colonel  he  blows  his  whistle, 
and  with  that  here  they  come  with  a  right  Indian 
warwhoop.  So  I  was  next  to  them,  and  as  I  seed 
them  coming  along  the  wall,  I  could  have  stopped 
one  of  them  mighty  easy  with  a  bullet ;  but  I  did 
not  want  to  do  that.  So  I  jumps  from  the  wall 
and  halloos  to  the  others  to  run,  and  with  that  they 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  41 

jumps  out  too.  So  I  just  stopped  to  listen  a  minute, 
for  all  was  dark  there,  and  I  heard  the  cocking  of 
rifles  and  setting  of  triggers,  and  I  jumped  down 
the  bank.  And  Ramsay  he  made  a  stop,  and  says 
he,  *  Stand  your  ground,  men,'  and  that  minute  a 
rifle  went  off.  And  Ramsay  was  a  top  the  bank 
right  over  me,  where  I  could  see  him  right  plain 
against  the  sky,  and  he  had  his  rifle  pointed  in 
under  the  rock,  when  the  other  went  off  and  down 
he  came. 

"  So  by  this  time  the  thing  was  pretty  well  over, 
and  I  went  off  and  crossed  the  branch,  and  lay  by 
till  I  heard  them  throw  the  dead  man  in  the  river ; 
and  then  the  colonel  and  them  went  off,  and  after 
a  while  Jim  comes  along  with  the  boat,  and  I  hails 
him  and  tells  him  about  it.  So  he  carried  the  boat 
back,  and  then  I  went  to  look  for  Montague  to  tell 
him.  So  I  knew  where  he  staid,  and  I  went  there, 
but  all  was  dark,  and  he  wasn't  there.  So  I 
stopped  a  while,  and  presently  I  hears  him  coming 
along  talking,  and  John  Keizer  with  him.  So  I 
guessed  by  that  he  knew  all  about  it,  and  that  we 
wasn't  to  blame.  So  John  Keizer  he  goes  away, 
and  Montague  he  goes  in  the  house  in  the  dark. 
Then  I  goes  to  the  door  and  knocks,  and  he  asked 
who  was  there,  mighty  scaredlike  ;  and  I  tells  him, 
and  he  lets  me  in.  So  there  we  sot  a  talking  in 
the  dark,  and  I  tells  him  all,  and  how  Ramsay  was 
killed  and  thrown  in  the  river.  And  when  he 
heard  that,  he  started  up,  and  said  something  I  did 

D2 


42  GEORGE  BALCOMBE. 

not  hear  rightly,  and  then  he  sets  down  agin  and 
considers.  So  after  a  while  says  he, 

"  *  Did  you  rob  them  men  ?' 

"  '  That's  none  of  your  business/  says  I. 

*' c  Yes  it  is,'  says  he ;  *  because  if  you  have  got 
anything  of  theirs  about  you,  Til  give  you  any 
money  for  it/ 

"  *  You'd  better  pay  me/  says  I,  *  what  you  owe 
me  already.' 

"  *  And  so  I  would/  says  he,  mighty  civillike, 
*  but  I  cannot  tell  one  bank  note  from  another  here 
in  the  dark.' 

" '  It's  mighty  easy  to  get  a  light  from  the 
kitchen/  says  I. 

"  So,  with  that,  he  goes  to  the  kitchen  and  fetches 
a  light,  and  then  he  pays  me  a  hundred  dollars, 
and  says  he, 

"  *  Now,  here's  another  hundred ;  and  let  me  see 
what  you  have  got  to  give  me  for  it.' 

"  So  I  showed  him  the  pistol  and  picture ;  and 
as  soon  as  he  saw  the  picture,  gentlemen,  he  started 
and  dropped  it  on  the  table,  and  he  clapped  his 
hands  to  his  head  and  walked  across  the  room, 
and  such  a  groan  as  he  gave  I  don't  reckon  nobody 
ever  heard,  unless  they  have  seen  a  man  shot  down 
and  scalped  before  he  was  dead.  And  then  he 
comes  back  and  sits  down,  and  leans  his  head  upon 
his  hands,  and  he  was  pale  and  g-asA/y-like,  and  his 
eyes  glassy  like  as  if  he  was  dead.  After  a  while 
he  comes  to  himself,  and  says  he, 

"  '  Now,  here's  another  hundred  dollars  for  you, 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  43 

if  you'll  take  these  things  down  to  the  Rockhouse 

and  leave  them  there.7 
"  (  What's  that  for  V  says  I. 
** c  Why,'  says  he, '  they'll  be  found  there,  and 

the  blood  and  all,  and  then  them  men  will  be  taken 

up,  and  I  can  get  away  to  Virginia  and  they  cannot 

follow  me.' 

"  '  But,'  says  I,  *  I  don't  want  to  bring  Colonel 

Balcombe  into  any  trouble.' 
" '  He  won't  be  in  any  danger,'  says  he,  *  because 

you  can  keep  out  of  the  way,  and  your  brother  and 

that  other  man,  and  the  dead  body's  gone,  and 

they'll  only  just  think  it  something  strange,  and 

they'll  be  just  taken  up,  but  nobody  can  hurt  them  ; 

and  more  than  that,'  said  he, '  they'll  get  their  things 

again.' 

" «  Well,'  says  I,  '  if  that's  to  be  all,  I  have  no 

objection,  and  Jim  and  I  can  go  out  a  hunting,  and 

take  that  other  fellow  with  us.' 

"  So,  with  that  I  left  him  and  went  straight  to  the 
Rockhouse,  and  there  I  left  the  pistol  and  picture  as 
I  had  promised,  and  I  saw  that  the  body  was  gone 
sure  enough,  so  that  I  felt  right  easy  in  my  mind 
about  the  colonel.  Then,  next  day,  Jim  and  I  got 
ready  to  go  out  and  take  our  fall  hunt,  and  we 
hunted  up  Johnson,  but  the  fellow  was  drunk,  and 
such  a  beast  we  could  not  make  him  understand 
anything ;  and  then  I  thought  nobody  would  ever 
mind  a  word  he'd  say,  and  besides,  he  would  not 
want  to  talk  about  it.  So  we  concluded  there  was 
no  danger,  and  we  went  off  away  out  on  the  heads 


44  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

of  the  Osage  ;  and  after  a  while  Keizer  comes  to 
us,  and  so  one  night,  sitting  down  at  the  camp  fire, 
says  he  to  me — " 

"  It  is  not  proper,"  said  the  circuit  attorney,  "to 
repeat  what  he  said." 

"  Why,  I  just  wanted,"  said  Todd,  "  to  tell  how 
I  come  to  come  in." 

"I  suppose,"  said  the  circuit  attorney,  "you 
mean  to  say  you  came  in  in  consequence  of  what 
he  told  you." 

«  To  be  sure,"  said  Todd  ;  "  that's  it." 

"  That  is  enough,"  said  the  attorney,  "  without 
telling  what  it  was." 

"  Ah  !  well,"  said  Todd, "  I  suppose  it  makes  no 
such  mighty  odds,  for  I  reckon  you  have  heard 
enough,  and  you  have  got  the  truth  this  time,  any- 
how." 


CHAPTER    IV. 


And  woman's  pure  kiss — sweet  and  long, 
Welcomed  her  warrior  home. 


tlALLECK. 


THE  perfect  verisimilitude  of  this  story  could 
leave  no  doubt  on  the  minds  of  any  person.  Even 
the  judge  seemed  to  have  had  his  attention  awa- 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  45 

kened  ;  and  having  smoked  out  the  cigar  he  was 
puffing  at  when  the  witness  began,  forgot  to  light 
another.  He  now  asked  if  there  were  any  more 
witnesses,  and  being  told  there  were  none,  re- 
quested the  circuit  attorney  to  go  on. 

"  1  have  nothing  to  say,  sir,"  replied  that  gen- 
tleman, "  but  what,  perhaps,  were  better  deferred 
till  the  jury  have  rendered  their  verdict.  You,  I 
presume,  sir,"  addressing  Balcombe  with  great 
respect,  "  do  not  feel  it  necessary  to  say  anything." 

"  Nothing  at  all,  sir,"  was  the  quiet  reply  of 
Balcombe. 

lt  Gentlemen,"  said  the  attorney,  "  you  may  re? 
tire." 

"  There  can  be  no  occasion,  sir,"  said  the  fore- 
man, glancing  on  the  rest,  who  all  nodded  assent. 

"  How  say  you,  gentlemen  ?"  said  the  attorney. 
"  Are  the  defendants  guilty,  or  not  guilty  ?" 

"  Not  guilty,"  was  the  answer  uttered,  with  ac- 
clamation, by  every  voice. 

"  Before  the  accused  are  discharged,"  said  the 
attorney,  "  I  beg  leave  to  say  what  I  just  now  ex- 
pressed a  wish  to  say — that  the  testimony  has  left 
not  a  shadow  of  doubt  on  my  mind  of  the  perfect 
innocence  of  all  these  gentlemen.'* 

They  were  now  discharged,  and  Balcombe,  ad- 
vancing to  Whitehead,  said,  "  I  owe  you  many 
thanks,  sir,  for  the  generous  and  delicate  manner 
in  which  you  came  to  my  aid  to-day.  You  will 
add  to  the  favour  if  you  will  show  me  how  other- 
wise than  by  words  I  shall  express  them." 


46 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


"  You  owe  me  nothing,  sir,"  said  Whitehead, 
with  the  same  reckless,  heartless  air  I  had  first  re- 
marked in  him.  "  Not  even  thanks.  What  I  did, 
sir,  was  done  to  please  myself." 

JBalcombe  looked  mortified  and  amazed,  and  said, 
"  The  debt  is  the  more  onerous,  sir,  that  I  am  only 
allowed  to  discharge  it  by  thanks,  and  that  they 
are  not  valued." 

"  You  mistake  me,  sir,"  said  Whitehead, "  if  you 
suppose  I  should  not  value  them  if  they  were  due. 
But  I  neither  served  you  nor  wished  to  serve  you. 
I  said  what  I  did,  because  my  admiration  of  you, 
and  my  indignation  at  that  stupid  beast,  disposed 
me  to  say  it ,  but  I  did  you  no  service,  and  you 
needed  no  aid  from  me ;"  saying  this,  he  turned 
away. 

The  foreman  of  the  jury  now  approached.  "  Mr. 
Balcombe,"  said  he,  "  you  have  had  an  opportu- 
nity to-day  of  doing  me  justice,  and  you  have  done 
it  nobly.  Had  not  the  appearance  of  the  last 
witness  deprived  me  of  the  opportunity,  I  beg 
leave  to  say  that  I  was  prepared  to  requite  it  by 
giving  my  recorded  opinion,  that  testimony,  how- 
ever strong,  which  should  charge  you  with  a  dis- 
honourable and  cowardly  act,  must  be  false,  as 
proving  too  much.  Let  me  hope,  sir,  that  here- 
after we  may  meet  as  friends." 

"  I  shall  rejoice  at  it,"  said  Balcombe,  extending 
his  hand;  "  and  I  beg  you  to  believe  that  it  has 
never  been  by  my  wish  or  by  my  fault  that  we 
have  met  otherwise." 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  47 

"  I  will  believe  anything  you  can  say,  sir,"  re- 
plied the  other. 

It  was  now  nearly  dark.  We  hurried  out,  and 
at  the  door  met  the  good  old  colonel,  who  had 
left  the  house  as  soon  as  he  had  heard  enough  to 
see  that  the  danger  was  past.  He  advanced  to 
Balcombe  with  an  extended  hand,  and  without 
speaking  walked  with  us  to  our  horses.  He  at 
length  mastered  his  emotion,  and  we  began  to  con- 
verse on  the  events  of  the  day.  A  brisk  ride 
brought  us  to  Colonel  Robinson's  before  midnight. 
I  saw  a  light  at  the  window  of  Balcombe's  cham- 
ber, and  a  female  figure  leaned  out  of  it. 

"  All  well !"  he  exclaimed,  leaping  from  his 
horse.  The  window  was  closed,  and  he  ran  up 
stairs. 

The  next  morning  Balcombe  appeared  at  break- 
fast, no  otherwise  changed  in  his  deportment  than 
that  he  now  conversed  freely  on  indifferent  sub- 
jects, though  not  exactly  with  as  much  gayety  as 
formerly.  Indeed,  the  wide  discursive  range  of 
his  thoughts  seemed  more  restricted,  and  his  whole 
manner  was  more  sobered  than  at  any  time  before 
the  death  of  Ramsay.  The  countenance  of  his 
wife  still  glowed  with  a  sense  of  indignant  hon- 
our and  insulted  pride,  which,  perhaps,  shone  out 
more  conspicuously,  because  whatever  of  gloom 
had  overshadowed  it  was  entirely  dissipated.  The 
fire  of  her  eye  was  less  lurid,  but  brighter ;  the 
flush  of  her  cheek  was  no  longer  the  deep  crimson 
of  choked  excitement,  but  the  healthy  glow  which 


48 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


rises  from  a  heart  that  beats  freely.  She  was  re- 
lieved, but  not  satisfied ;  and  still  incensed,  though 
the  fierceness  of  her  resentment  was  much  ap- 
peased. As  she  was  about  to  leave  the  room 
after  breakfast,  she  turned,  and  said  to  her  father, 

"My  dear  father,  my  husband  will  never  tell  me 
all  about  himself,  except  when  he  thinks  he  has 
done  something  wrong  or  foolish.  You  and  Mr, 
Napier  must  tell  me  all  about  what  passed  yester- 
day." 

'*-!  can  tell  you  no  more  at  this  moment,  my  dear 
child,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  kissing  her  tenderly, 
and  holding  her  in  his  arms,  with  her  face  turned  up 
to  his  as  he  spoke,  "  I  can  tell  you  no  more  than  that 
hereafter  you  may  be  as  proud  of  your  husband  as 
you  will,  and  I  will  never  laugh  at  you  about  it." 

"  And  I,  my  dear  madam,"  said  I,  "  can  only 
say,  that  had  you  been  there  yesterday,  you  would 
have  been  a  thousand  times  prouder  of  him  than 
you  ever  were  before,  and  none  present  would 
have  thought  you  as  proud  of  him  as  he  deserved." 

As  I  spoke,  she  quietly  disengaged  herself  from 
her  father's  arms,  and  looked  at  her  husband  with 
more  emotion  than  I  had  ever  seen  her  display. 
At  length  all  a  woman's  softness  rose  to  her  eyes  ; 
her  features  worked,  her  whole  frame  shook,  and 
stretching  her  hands  to  heaven,  she  exclaimed, 
"  Oh,  thank  God !  thank  God  !"  and  fell  upon  his 
neck.  There  she  hung,  as  if  unconscious  of  our 
presence,  shedding,  during  the  whole  time,  a  con- 
tinued flood  of  tears.  In  that  torrent  the  fire  that 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


49 


had  burned  her  heart  was  quenched.  She  with- 
drew herself  from  his  embrace  an  altered  woman. 
From  that  time  forth  she  was  the  same  reserved, 
silent,  modest,  though  dignified  lady  that  I  had  first 
seen  her.  The  sun  of  her  husband's  honour  (to 
use  Balcombe's  figure)  once  more  shone  clear  and 
bright  above  the  horizon,  and  she  modestly  paled 
her  beams  in  his  presence. 

I  need  not  say  how  we  were  all  affected. 
Even  Balcombe's  nerves,  which  seemed  formed  to 
endure  the  rack  without  shrinking,  were 'shaken 
like  a  child's.  But  he  recovered  himself  before 
she  did,  and  as  she  was  about  to  withdraw  he  said, 

"  You  must  take  your  share  of  praise,  my  dear 
Elizabeth.  If  there  be  any  justice  in  what  my 
partial  friends  have  just  said,  I  owe  all  the  honour 
to  you.  I  committed  myself,  dearest,  to  be  guided 
by  what  Napier  would  call  '  the  confident,  unerring 
instinct  of  woman's  love,'  and  it  pointed  the  path 
that  led  to  victory  over  my  enemies.  Had  not 
you  been  my  wife  I  should  have  been  safe,  but  not 
triumphant." 

She  again  clung  to  him,  and  hid  her  blushing 
and  beaming  countenance  in  his  bosom.  She  was 
about  to  leave  us,  but  he  detained  her,  and  added, 

"  You  must  stay  and  hear  me  tell  all.  I  was 
not  unapprized,"  continued  he,  addressing  us,  "  of 
the  nature  of  my  situation.  I  knew  the  profes- 
sional character  of  Mr.  Shaler,  and  was  prepared 
for  all  that  took  place,  except  the  exclusion  of  Na- 
pier's account  of  his  conversation  with  Montague. 

VOL.  II. E 


50 


GEORGE   BALCOMBE. 


But  even  with  that  testimony,  had  it  been  admit' 
ted,  my  main  dependance  was  on  my  character ; 
and  to  act  out  that  character  fully,  so  as  to  give 
the  lie  to  any  testimony  which  should  charge  me 
with  dishonourable  and  cowardly  assassination, 
was  the  part,  not  of  magnanimity,  as  you,  Wil- 
liam, would  say,  but  of  true  policy.  I  said  nothing 
of  these  things  to  you,  but  with  my  wife  I  had  no 
reserve.  The  part  I  acted  was  rather  the  sugges- 
tion of  my  own  mind  than  hers,  but  it  was  her 
noble  confidence  that  inspired  me  to  possess  my 
soul  in  patience,  and  to  look  calmly  on  my  danger, 
when  it  was  most  appalling.  If  you  remember 
what  was  said  by  Mr.  Roberts,  the  foreman  of  the 
jury,  you  will  see  that  I  was  not  mistaken." 

"  Good  God !"  said  Mrs.  Balcombe,  "  was  Mr. 
Roberts  on  your  jury  ?  The  bitterest  enemy  you 
have  in  the  world." 

"Yes,  dear,  he  was,  and  by  my  choice;  for 
though  my  enemy,  he  is  brave  and  honourable,  and 
knew  me  to  be  so  too." 

"  Oh  my  husband !"  exclaimed  she,  looking  at 
him  with  tender  admiration,  "  that  choice  was 
doubtless  wise,  but  I  could  never  have  advised 
it." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  he ;  *'  it  is  not  the  part  of 
woman  to  meet  danger  in  person,  but  to  buckle  on 
the  armour  of  her  husband's  heart,  and  fortify  it 
for  the  encounter.  Go  now,  dear.  You  will  see 
Mr.  Roberts  in  a  few  days.  Yesterday's  work 
has  made  him  my  fast  friend." 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  51 

Saying  this  he  kissed  her,  and  she  left  the  room, 
the  proudest  and  happiest  woman  upon  earth. 
She  presently  returned,  leading  her  little  girl. 

"  You  have  not  seen  your  child,"  said  she  ;  "  she 
was  dressed  and  at  play  before  you  awoke." 

He  stooped  down  and  held  out  his  arms ;  the 
little  thing  ran  into  them  ;  and  for  a  few  moments 
he  forgot  everything  else  in  her  caresses  and  art- 
less prattle.  Her  mother  then  took  her  away,  and 
turning  to  me  he  said, 

"  How  say  you,  William  ?  I  wish  to  train  up 
that  child  to  be  the  wife  of  a  great  and  good  man. 
What  model  would  you  propose  to  me  ?" 

"  Her  own  mother,  assuredly,"  said  I. 

"  I  am  afraid,  then,"  said  he,  "  we  must  educate 
her  ourselves ;  lest,  at  a  boarding-school,  she  might 
choose  another  model." 

"  But  if  she  is  endowed  by  nature  with  the  same 
primitive  qualities  which  I  most  admire  in  her 
mother,  then,  learn  what  she  may,  she  cannot  help 
adopting  and  acting  on  her  generous  sentiments 
and  noble  principles." 

"  I  shall  expect  her  mind  to  bear  the  same  fruit 
if  the  same  seed  is  planted." 

"What is  that?" 

"  An  habitual  subordination  of  the  heart  and 
mind,  not  to  the  authority,  but  to  the  wisdom,  real 
or  fancied,  of  her  parents." 

"  And  how  will  that  have  such  an  effect  ?" 

"  It  will  prepare  and  dispose  her  to  enthrone,  as 
the  master  feeling  of  her  heart,  a  cherished  sense 


52  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

of  her  husband's  superiority,  from  which  will  spring 
an  assurance  of  his  virtue,  a  reliance  on  his  wis- 
dom, a  zeal  for  his  honour,  a  pride  in  his  distinc- 
tion, and  an  undoubting  confidence  in  his  fortunes 
and  his  prowess,  which  will  make  her  to  her  hus- 
band what  her  mother  is  to  me.  What  else  she  is 
to  be  let  it  depend  on  him.  If  he  is  her  superior 
at  first,  as  he  should  be,  he  will  raise  her  to  his  own 
level,  or  as  near  it  as  comports  with  the  happiness 
of  both.  Even  should  her  faculties  be  superior  to 
his,  he  cannot  raise  her  so  high  but  that  she  will 
still  feel  herself  the  creature  of  his  hands.  His 
confidence  will  result  back  to  her,  and  she  will  be 
his  best  adviser,  because  she  will  always  encourage 
him  to  put  his  trust  in  himself  and  in  God.  This 
last  is  a  necessary  effect  of  a  woman's  natural  con- 
fidence in  her  husband's  fortunes.  The  master  of 
her  heart  and  person  is,  in  her  eyes,  the  master  of 
her  destiny  and  his  own.  This  connects  her  con- 
fidence in  him  with  her  confidence  in  the  great  Dis- 
poser of  events,  whose  favour  she  would  never 
have  him  forfeit.  Did  ever  woman's  love  incite  to 
a  vicious  act  ?  Did  ever  the  chance  of  war,  to  a 
loving  woman,  seem  equal  between  her  husband 
and  another  ?  If  so,  what  peace  of  mind  to  one 
whose  husband  is  abroad  in  a  campaign  in  which 
it  is  foreseen  that  one  half  will  perish  ?  With  an 
equal  chance  that  she  may  never  see  him  again, 
how  could  she  endure  his  absence  ?  Yet  she 
sleeps  soundly  and  feeds  kindly.  She  prays,  in- 
deed, fervently ;  but  her  prayer  is  full  of  hope,  for 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  53 

she  is  his  alter  ego.  She  fears  for  him  only  as  a 
brave  man  confident  in  himself  fears  for  himself. 

"  I  know  the  authority  of  Shakspeare  is  against 
me  here.  But  I  must  read  human  nature  for  my- 
self. It  is  the  wife,  and  not  the  mother  of  Coriola- 
nus  who  should  have  been  made  to  say, 

«  He'll  beat  Aufidius'  head  below  his  knee, 
And  tread  upon  his  neck.' 

Had  I  been  the  friend,  the  brother,  the  son  of  Eliz- 
abeth, she  would  have  trembled  for  me.  For  her 
husband  she  had  no  fears.  This  comfortable  con- 
dition of  woman's  mind,  which  reason  cannot  jus- 
tify, reason  can  yet  trace  to  its  causes.  I  may  err 
in  my  judgment  of  these;  but  I  must  be  very  sure 
that  I  am  wrong,  before  I  will  consent  to  peril  this 
invaluable  quality  in  woman,  for  the  sake  of  exper- 
imenting on  the  intellectual  capabilities  of  a  being 
who,  after  all,  must,  and  of  choice  will  spend  more 
than  half  her  life  in  nursing  children." 

I  have  already  said  that  Balcombe  was  the  hard- 
est man  to  talk  with  that  I  had  ever  seen.  I  made 
no  reply ;  but  I  was  still  unconvinced.  With  all 
the  advantage  of  a  striking  example  at  hand,  I  saw 
that  he  rested  his  case,  after  all,  on  a  beautiful  but 
romantic  theory,  which  might  be  fallacious.  In- 
deed, I  was  rather  more  inclined  to  adhere  to  my 
former  opinions,  because  I  was  satisfied  I  had 
heard  all  that  could  be  urged  against  them,  and 
still  saw  no  sufficient  reason  to  reject  the  argu- 

E2 


54 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


ments,  with  which  all  are  familiar,  in  favour  of 
that  system  of  education  which  would  place  the 
mind  of  woman  fully  on  a  level  with  that  of  the 
companion  of  her  life. 


CHAPTER  V. 

His  gallant  bearing  won  my  heart. 


SCOTT. 


ABOUT  midday  we  were  surprised  by  a  visit 
from  Mr.  Shaler,  who  called  on  his  way  home  to 
say,  that  he  could  not  leave  the  county  without 
doing  himself  the  pleasure  of  offering  his  respects 
to  Mr.  Balcombe.  He  was  desirous,  too,  he  said,, 
to  obtain  the  assurance  of  what  his  experience  of 
Mr.  Balcombe's  candour  would  hardly  permit  him 
to  doubt,  that  the  manner  in  which  he  had  been 
constrained,  on  the  preceding  day,  to  perform  a 
disgusting  and  painful  duty,  had  not  been  taken 
amiss.  To  this  Balcombe  replied,  by  assuring  him 
that  he  had  perfectly  understood  his  situation,  and 
added  some  remarks,  showing  that  he  had  well 
weighed  all  the  considerations,  which  are  regarded 
in  ascertaining  the  duty  of  the  lawyer  to  his 
client. 

"I  am  perfectly  aware,"  said  he,  "that  the 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  55 

nature  of  the  human  mind  disqualifies  any  man 
for  investigating  both  sides  of  any  question  at 
once.  Yet  no  decision  can  be  properly  made,  until 
all  that  can  be  said  on  both  sides  (right  or  wrong) 
is  duly  considered ;  and  the  wisdom  of  the  law  is 
in  nothing  more  manifest,  than  in  the  designation 
of  a  set  of  men,  qualified  by  nature,  education,  and 
experience,  for  such  investigations,  to  seek  out  and 
lay  before  the  judge  or  jury,  everything  worthy  to 
be  taken  into  view.  To  do  this,  the  counsel  on 
each  side  must  have  a  single  object,  and  to  the 
pursuit  of  this  object  he  must  be  stimulated  by  in- 
terest, without  being  withheld  by  any  consideration 
of  the  rights  or  interests  of  the  other  party,  which 
are  committed  to  the  guardianship  of  his  adver- 
sary. I  say  this,  my  dear  sir,"  continued  he,  "  not 
by  way  of  showing  that  I  do  or  do  not  understand 
what  I  am  talking  about,  but  that  you  may  see  that 
I  speak  advisedly,  and  not  mere  words  of  course, 
when  1  assure  you  that  all  you  have  done  has  been 
taken  in  good  part." 

We  found  Mr.  Shaler  the  same  pleasant,  intelli- 
gent* gentleman  that  he  had  shown  himself  in  our 
ride  together,  with  a  vein  of  mingled  humour  and 
sarcasm.  He  seemed  to  take  the  highest  pleasure 
in  his  profession,  and  exulted  with  the  spirit  of  a 
keen  sportsman,  in  the  exercise  of  the  talents  ap- 
propriate to  it.  With  these  he  was  eminently 
gifted,  and  possessed,  moreover,  some  literature,  a 
good  taste,  and  the  manners  of  a  gentleman.  He 
seemed  to  be  a  man  of  kind  feelings,  somewhat 


56 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


blunted  by  professional  exercise.  He  spoke  of 
Montague  with  playful  scorn,  and  promised  him- 
self a  full  feast  of  revenge  should  he  ever  return 
to  Missouri,  for  the  trick  he  had  played  him  in 
drawing  him  in  to  aid  in  such  a  scheme  of 
iniquity. 

"  I  would  gladly,"  he  said,  '•'  ride  from  St.  Louis 
to  prosecute  him  for  the  conspiracy,  and  as  acces- 
sory to  the  robbery  of  Mr.  Balcombe  and  Scott." 

After  sitting  an  hour  he  rose  to  take  his  depar- 
ture. He  was  pressed  to  remain,  but  said  that 
Whitehead,  who  had  refused  to  call,  was  waiting 
for  him  at  the  next  house.  Balcombe  then  took 
him  aside,  and  spoke  a  few  words  to  him  in  pri- 
vate. In  answer,  he  said  aloud, 

"  I  will  hand  it  to  you,  sir,  as  you  pass  through 
St.  Louis  so  authenticated  as  to  pass  unquestioned 
anywhere.  And  I  hope,"  added  he,  "  that  I  shall 
then  not  only  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  more  of 
you  and  Mrs.  Balcombe,  and  Mr.  Napier,  but  that 
you  will  also  permit  me  to  communicate  to  my 
friends  there  a  part  of  the  satisfaction  I  have  en- 
joyed in  your  acquaintance." 

Having  said  this,  he  took  his  leave.  About  din- 
ner time  poor  John  came  limping  along  on  foot, 
completely  broken  down  in  everything  but  mind 
and  spirits.  He  brought  the  pistol  and  picture, 
which  in  our  hurry  we  had  left  behind.  James 
took  the  latter,  and  gazed  on  it  with  tearful  eyes, 
and  kissing  it,  was  about  to  return  it  to  his  bosom, 
when  Mrs.  Balcombe  begged  leave  to  look  at  it. 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  5T 

She  took  it,  expressed  her  admiration  of  its  sur- 
passing beauty,  and  stepping  out,  returned  with  a 
riband,  with  which  she  tied  it  about  James's  neck. 
It  was  delightful  to  look  upon  the  grateful  expression 
of  the  poor  boy's  countenance  as  he  looked  up  at 
her  while  performing  this  office  of  delicate  respect 
for  his  poor  sister.  I  have  never  seen  anything 
like  his  affectionate  devotion  to  her.  It  was  not 
merely  love  to  her  as  a  sister,  nor  gratitude  to  the 
instructress  o  f  his  youth,  nor  compassion  for  a 
friendless  and  unfortunate  woman.  It  amounted 
to  absolute  idolatry  to  one  who  seemed  to  him  a 
perfectly  faultless  being.  The  interest  in  her 
manifested  by  Balcombe  had  bound  the  gentle 
youth  to  him.  His  gratitude,  admiration,  and 
confidence  appeared  to  have  no  bounds.  It  was 
plain  he  knew  nothing  of  Montague,  and  had  no 
idea  of  the  cause  or  nature  of  the  cloud  that  rested 
upon  her.  Indeed,  after  the  manifestations  I  had 
seen  of  his  quick  feelings,  delicate  sense  of  honour, 
and  high  spirit,  I  had  no  doubt  that  the  least  inti- 
mation of  her  wrongs  would  be  fatal  to  her  be- 
trayer. The  propriety  and  gentleness  of  his  de- 
meanour had  endeared  him  to  us  all,  and  the 
utmost  caution  was  uniformly  observed  to  save 
his  feelings,  and  to  say  nothing  from  which  he 
could  possibly  suspect  the  truth.  Balcombe  now 
asked  John  how  he  had  been  so  fortunate  as  to  fall 
in  with  Todd. 

*'  I  God,  colonel !"  said  he,  "  I  went  after  him, 
and  that's  the  way  I  fell  in  with  hirru" 


58  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

"  But,"-  said  Balcombe,  "  what  put  it  into  your 
head  to  go  after  him  ?" 

*'  Why,"  said  he,  "  it's  a  long  story,  colonel ;  but 
I  reckon  you'd  like  to  know  all  about  it,  so  I'd  as 
well  begin  at  once  and  tell  you.  You  see,  the  day 
before  I  went  away  I  happened  to  be  at  a  warrant 
trying,  and  who  should  be  there  but  that  same  fel- 
low Perkins,  that  wanted  to  put  in  his  jaw  that  day 
before  the  justice.  A  nasty,  tallow-faced,  greasy, 
bloated,  long-legged,  water-jointed  rascal,  that  looks 
for  all  the  world  like  a  hound  puppy,  that's  got  fat 
by  stealing  pot  liquor  out  of  the  kitchen.  Well,  he 
was  there,  and  I  heard  him  say, '  I  God,'  says  he, 
*  'twas  pretty  cunning  in  Balcombe  to  make  no  ob- 
jection to  hearsay  testimony,  when  all  he  wanted 
was  to  get  in  all  that  long  rigmarole  about  what 
Montague  should  have  said  to  that  fellow  Napier, 
and  then  tell  the  story  his  own  way  besides.  But 
I  guess,'  says  he,  *  he'll  find  the  difference  when 
Lawyer  Shaler  gets  him  before  the  judge  ;  for  when 
all  that  loose  jaw  comes  to  be  left  out,  his  case  will 

look  d d  slim,  I  can  tell  him.     And  then,'  says 

he,  *  I  guess  he'll  be  glad  enough  to  get  a  lawyer 
to  plead  for  him — a  pettifogger,  as  he  calls  it.    But 

I'll  see  him  d d  before  1  say  a  word  for  him, 

unless  he  pays  me,  and  that  well  too,'  says  he. 

"  So  you  see  that  sets  me  to  considering,  col- 
onel ;  and  I  sees  plain  enough  that  it  was  just  as 
he  said.  So  the  next  day  I  starts  away  to  tell  you, 
and  when  I  got  there  you  wasn't  at  home,  and  when 
you  come  in,  the  madam,  she  was  there,  and  I  did 


GEORGE    BALCOMBEJ  59 

not  want  to  say  nothing  before  her.  So  then  the 
talk  riz  about  the  pistol,  and  thinks  I,  I'll  just  go 
and  try  to  see  that  woman,  and  tell  the  colonel 
about  it  another  time.  So  I  starts  after  her  the 
way  she  went,  and  I  remembered  how  she  was 
dressed,  and  I  sort  o'  guessed  who  she  was.  So 
after  a  while  I  comes  up  with  her,  and  she  had  a 
sort  of  sun  bonnet  on,  so  that  I  could  not  see  her 
face ;  and  I  speaks  to  her,  and  she  answers  me, 
and  looked  up,  I  seed  it  was  a  woman  that  lives 
with  Sam  Todd  when  he's  at  home — or  rather  Sam 
lives  with  her,  for  he  aint  got  no  home  of  his  own 
rightly ;  and  you  see,  gentlemen,  if  she  aint  his 
wife,  she  ought  to  be,  anyhow.  So  says  I, 

"  *  Why,  is  that  you,  Jenny  ?  Why,  I  met  you 
a  while  ago,  and  I  did  not  know  you  no  more  than 
if  I  never  had  seed  you  !  And,'  says  I,  *  did  Sam 
Todd  send  that  pistol  to  Colonel  Balcombe  that 
you  carried  there  a  while  ago  ?' 

<f  Says  she,  « I  don't  know  nothing  about  no 
pistol.' 

"  *  Well,'  says  I,  « maybe  you  don't ;  but  you 
carried  a  box  there,  anyhow.' 

"  « Well,'  says  she,  *  and  what  if  I  did  ?' 

" « 'Cause,'  says  I, '  I  want  to  know  if  Sam  Todd 
sent  it.  'Cause,'  says  I,  *  the  colonel  takes  it  mighty 
friendly-like  of  Sam.' 

" '  Ay,  ay,  John,'  says  she,  *  you  aint  a  going  to 
come  over  me  that  way." 

"  *  Well,'  says  I,  « but,  Jenny,  I  don't  mean  you 
no  harm  in  the  Versal  world,  nor  Sam  neither,' 


60  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

says  I ;  *  'cause  you  know  Sam  and  I  was  always 
good  friends ;  and  you  know  he  and  I  is  going  out 
hunting  together  this  fall.* 

"  *  I  reckon/  said  she,  *  you  won't  hunt  much 
with  him  this  fall, 'cause  he's  gone  out  already.' 

" '  Gone  !'  says  I ;  4  how  come  he  to  go  without 
me,  after  he  and  I  agreed  to  go  together  ?' 

•'  You  see,  gentlemen,  I  sort  o'  suspicioned  as 
much  as  that  Sam  was  gone  to  get  out  of  the  way. 
'Cause  you  know,  colonel,  there  was  four  of  them 
villains,  and  Ramsay  was  one  of  them,  and  John- 
son was  one  ;  and  then  I  remembered  I  had  heard 
old  Jones  tell  Montague  about  Sam  Todd  and  his 
brother ;  so  I  made  sure  partly  Sam  and  Jim  were 
the  other  two ;  and  I  knew  where  to  find  Sam, 
and  I  thought  if  he  was  anyways  friendly,  I  could 
not  do  better  than  to  go  right  after  him.  So  I  just 
talked  so  with  the  woman  to  try  to  find  out  how 
that  was.  So  when  I  axed  her  how  come  Sam  to 
go  away  and  leave  me,  says  she, 

"'He  did  not  think  it  worth  while/  says  she, 
'to  wait  for  you  after  you  were  tooken  up  about 
that  scrape  of  Ramsay's/ 

"  *  When  did  he  go  ?'  says  I. 

"  *  Sunday  morning/  says  she. 

" '  Why/  says  I,  *  that  was  before  I  was  tooken 

a?? 

"  *  Well/  says  she, '  if  you  wasn't  tooken  up  then, 
Sam  could  give  a  right  good  guess  you  would  be.' 

"  So  by  that,  gentlemen,  I  made  sure  Sam  was 
in  the  scrape,  and  'twas  he  that  sent  the  pistol,  and 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  61 

I  did  not  much  doubt  but  he  was  friendly.  So  I 
speaks  right  up,  and  says  I,  *  Well,  I  don't  want 
so  much  to  know  who  sent  the  pistol,  but  I  just 
want  to  know  whether  Sam  is  friendly  to  the  col- 
onel or  not.  'Cause,'  says  I,  '  the  colonel  is  in  a 
sort  o'  ticklish  fix  just  now,  and  he  wants  friends, 
and  I  know,'  says  I,  '  that  if  Sam  is  a  friend  any- 
how, he  is  a  good  friend.'  And  with  that  says  she, 

*' '  I  won't  tell  you  nothing  at  all,  John,  about 
the  pistol  nor  the  box,  nor  who  sent  it ;  but  you 
may  be  sure  of  one  thing/  says  she,  *  Sam  Todd 
don't  mean  no  harm  by  Colonel  Balcombe  nor 
you  neither.  'Cause,'  says  she,  *  the  colonel  is  a 
brave  soldier  and  a  good  man,  for  all  Sam  knows 
he  don't  like  him.' 

"  '  Well,'  says  I,  *  Jenny,  where's  Sam  now  ?' 

"  *  I  shan't  tell  you  that  neither,'  says  she  ;  *  and 
I'm  not  sure  as  I  know ;  but  I  reckon  you  know 
where  you  and  he  was  to  hunt.' 

"  So,  gentlemen,  I  had  got  all  I  wanted,  and  I 
considered  a  while  ;  and  it  was  a  desperate  long 
way  to  the  head  of  Sac  River,  where  I  expected 
to  find  Sam ;  and  I  had  my  rifle  with  me,  and  it 
wasn't  no  use  saying  nothing  about  it  to  the  colonel, 
nohow,  so  I  starts  right  off. 

"  Well,  I  went  out  upon  Sac  River,  and  I  hunts 
a  long  time  before  I  could  light  upon  Sam's  trail. 
At  last  I  falls  in  with  him,  and  from  that  we  camped 
together.  So  that  night,  setting  by  the  fire,  says 
I, '  Colonel  Balcombe  was  mightily  obliged  to  you, 
Sam,'  says  I,  'for  sending  him  that  pistol,  'cause 

VOL.   II.— F 


62  GEORGE  BALCOMBE. 

it  looked  friendly-like ;  and  besides,  though  you 
and  I  is  a  couple  of  sort  o'  ruffianlike  fellows,  and 
likes  to  make  money  by  taking  the  part  of  them 
that  has  not  got  the  pluck  to  take  their  own  part, 
yet  as  to  taking  what  don't  belong  to  us,  or  rob- 
bing, or  anything  in  that  way,  it's  what  we  don't 
hold  with.  So  I  suppose  while  them  other  fellows, 
Ramsay  and  Johnson,  was  a  robbing  the  colonel, 
you  just  took  your  share  to  keep  for  him,  and  sent 
it  back  like  an  honest  man.' 

"  *  Did  not  Squire  Montague  make  him  pay  no- 
thing for  it  ?'  says  he. 

"  And  the  minute  Todd  said  that,  I  begun  to 
think  of  something  I  had  not  thought  of  before, 
and  says  I,  *  I  never  suspicioned  it  came  from  him, 
and  how  was  Squire  Montague  to  know  anything 
about  it  V 

" '  Why,  he  knowed  where  I  left  it/  says  he. 

"  '  And  where  was  that  ?'  said  I. 

" « At  the  Rockhouse,'  says  he. 

"  *  And  the  picture  too  V  says  I. 

"  { Yes,'  says  he. 

"  And  with  that  he  ups  and  tells  me  all  about  it, 
just  the  same  as  he  did  yesterday,  how  he  managed 
to  save  what  the  colonel  and  Mr.  Scott  would  hate 
to  lose  the  most.  And  when  he  was  done  telling, 
says  I, 

" '  Well,  I  am  mighty  sorry  to  tell  you,  Sam,' 
says  I,  *  that  that  pistol  is  a  going  to  get  the  colonel 
into  a  sight  of  trouble.' 

"'  Oh,'  says  he, « it  cannot  be  of  no  great  force 


GEORGE   BALCOMBE.  63 

nohow,  'cause/  says  he,  *  there  wasn't  nothing  there 
but  the  blood,  and  nobody  knows  whose  blood  it 
was ;  and  as  to  Ramsay,  the  catfish  have  done 
eating  him  long  ago,  and  he  won't  be  missed.' 

" '  There's  where  you  are  mistaken,'  says  I,  *  for 
Ramsay's  body  washed  up  on  a  sand  bar  right  by  ; 
and  when  Squire  Montague  and  old  man  Jones 
went  there  and  found  the  picture  and  the  pistol, 
by  the  time  they  could  say, l  Eh,  what's  this  ?'  there 
was  the  corpse  to  tell  them  all  about  it,  as  plain  as 
a  live  man  could  talk.' 

"  When  Sam  heard  this  he  studied  and  looked 
mighty  uneasy-like,  and  then  says  he,  *  Squire 
Montague  had  not  ought  to  have  carried  old  man 
Jones  there  right  away.  He'd  ought  to  have  gone 
there  by  himself  first,'  says  he,  4  and  seen  how  the 
land  lay  ;  'cause,'  says  he,  *  that  wasn't  doing  the 
right  thing  by  me  ;  'cause  you  see,  John,  when  he 
give  me  the  hundred  dollars  for  the  things,  to  make 
my  mind  easy,  he  tells  me  the  men  should  get 
their  things  again  ;  and  he'd  just  fix  so  as  to  fling 
a  running  noose,  like,  over  the  colonel  in  the  start 
of  the  race,  and  so  sort  o'  trip  him,  and  then  he'd 
get  to  Virginia  first.  And,'  says  he,  *  I  tell'd  him 
right  straight  that  he  should  not  have  the  things 
nohow,  if  the  colonel  was  to  be  brought  into  any 
serious  trouble  about  the  business.' 

" '  Well,'  says  I,  *  it's  a  slim  chance  to  depend 
upon  what  almost  anybody  says  ;  but  as  to  such  a 
natural  born  devil  as  that  Montague,  you  could 
not  look  for  anything  from  him.  Do  you  think/ 


64  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

says  I, '  he  didn't  carry  Mr.  Jones  down  there  Sun- 
day evening,  and  then  a  Monday  morning  he  was 
off  by  crack  of  day  ?  and  he  puts  that  fellow  John- 
son up  to  tell  it  all  just  right  to  hang  the  colonel ; 
and  then  when  he  gets  to  St.  Louis,  he  employs  a 
first-rate  lawyer  there,  (one  Shaler,  I  think  they 
call  his  name.)  that  they  say  is  a  right  roarer,  to 
come  up  to  prosecute  the  colonel,  right  or  wrong.' 
"And  while  I  was  a  saying  this,  gentlemen,  Jim, 
he  looks  straight  at  me  right  through  the  fire,  and 
if  he  did  not  look  like  the  devil  in  his  own  ilement, 
I  don't  know.  And  with  that  he  jumps  right  up, 
and  such  a  cursing  as  Montague  got,  it  did  not  do 
his  soul  no  good,  now  mind  I  tell  you.  So  after  a 
while,  when  his  steam  was  pretty  well  blowed  off, 
he  just  said  he'd  start  off  next  day,  and  come  right 
in  and  tell  all  about  it.  And  you  see,  gentlemen, 
all  the  time  I  never  said  a  word  about  myself, 
'cause  that  was  part  of  the  story  he  did  not  know 
nothing  about ;  and  more  than  that,  'twasn't  no  use  ; 
for  you  see,  for  all  Sam  know'd  the  colonel  didn't 
like  him,  'cause  he  was  a  hardheaded  devil  out 
upon  the  Spanish  frontier,  that  wouldn't  neither 
lead  nor  drive,  and  he  and  I  was  right  good  friends, 
yet  I  know'd  he  would  not  so  much  mind  my 
coming  to  a  bad  end,  as  such  a  man  as  the  colonel. 
'Cause  you  see,"  added  John,  with  a  knowing 
look,  "  maybe  he  thought  if  I  did  not  deserve  it 
now,  I  did  another  time,  and  maybe  he  wasn't  so 
mighty  far  wrong  either ;  though  as  to  taking 
life,"  (and  here  he  spoke  with  great  gravity,)  "ex- 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  65 

cept  of  an  Indian,  or  them  that  wasn't  no  better, 
and  that  in  the  way  of  fair  manhood,  it's  what  1 
never  did  do,  and  never  will.  And  besides,  if  such 
a  poor  fellow  as  I  was  put  out  of  the  way,  there's 
plenty  more  just  like  me  ;  leastways,  maybe  Sam 
thinks  so ;  and  I  aint  so  sure  but  what  he  thinks 
he'd  do  just  as  well  in  my  place,  for  all  the  good 
I'll  ever  do,  or  harm  either.  But  then,  if  Colonel 
Balcombe  was  gone,  where  would  we  find  any- 
body to  pay  a  poor  fellow  sometimes  for  doing 
what  an't  agin  his  conscience  ?  For  a  man  may 
be  pretty  well  up  to  all  sorts  of  devilment,  and  yet 
maybe  he  won't  like  to  be  always  at  it.  So  you 
see,  gentlemen,  Sam  never  know'd  a  word  about 
my  part  in  the  scrape  more  than  he  know'd  before 
till  he  got  in  the  courthouse,  and  I  an't  so  mighty 
sure  he  know'd  it  then.  So,  gentlemen,  to  make 
a  long  story  short,  the  next  day  we  cached  our 
skins,  and  started  in,  and  a  tough  time  we  had  of 
it  to  save  our  distance." 

"  And  where  did  Billy  John  come  from  1"  said 
Balcombe ;  "  and  what  brought  him  ?" 

"  I  had  not  a  chance  to  ask  him,"  said  John. 
"  I  suppose  he  just  staid  long  enough  to  see  that 
you  was  out  of  the  scrape,  and  then  slipped  away 
to  his  hunting  ground  again.  You  see,  that  day 
they  took  me  at  the  camp  meeting  he  and  Snake 
was  there,  and  the  minute  they  seed  me  in  trouble, 
they  came  up  and  waited  for  orders.  And  so  I 
tells  them  to  be  off  if  they  did  not  want  to  be 
hanged :  so  they  put  right  off.  How  they  got  the 

F2 


66  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

news  of  your  being  in  trouble,  the  Lord  knows. 
But  as  to  his  coming  in  after  he  heard  that  1  Bless 
your  soul,  colonel !  why,  that  fellow,  before  he'd  let 
you  come  to  any  harm,  especially  for  what  he  had 
done,  he'd  let  'em  roast  him  before  a  slow  fire,  and 
cut  slices  off,  and  eat  'em  before  his  face." 

"  And  did  Todd  know  nothing  about  the  other 
pistol  ?"  said  Balcombe.  "  Because  I  should  like 
to  get  the  dirk  that  was  in  company  with  it.  It's 
an  old  friend  that  I  should  not  like  to  lose." 

"  I  reckon  so,  sir,"  said  John,  "  and  so  did  Sam  ; 
for  we  both  seed  it  stand  your  friend  once,  when 
nothing  else  could  have  helped  you.  But  he  could 
not  tell  rightly  about  that.  Only  just  when  I  told 
him  how  it  come,  he  seemed  pleased,  and  said  it 
must  be  Jim's  work.  And  he  said  he  was  mighty 
glad  Jim  sent  it.  * 'Cause,'  says  he,  'I'm  sorter 
jubus  Jim  an't  so  mighty  partickler  about  holding 
fast  what  he  gets.'  And  then  he  axed  me  abput 
the  dirk,  and  he  said  Jim  ought  to  have  sent  that 
too;  but  maybe  he  had  just  carried  it  out  with  him 
for  a  hunting-knife,  and  would  give  it  back  to  the 
colonel  when  he  come  in.  And,  anyhow,  he  said 
it  should  be  forthcoming." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Balcombe,  "  it  will  come  too 
late ;  for  I  must  be  off  to  Virginia  immediately." 

"  Do  you  still  propose  going  ?"  said  I,  delighted. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  and  I  shall  take  my  wife  with 
me.  We  shall  lose  no  time  by  taking  her.  She 
has  relations  in  Fauquier  whom  she  wishes  to  see. 
We  take  the  steamboat  to  Wheeling,  the  stage  to 


GEORGE   BALCOMBE.  67 

Baltimore,  Washington,  and  Fredericksburg,  which 
last  will  pass  near  her  destination ;  and  after  leav- 
ing her,  to  touch  at  your  mother's  in  King  and 
Queen,  and  fall  down  into  Essex  to  Raby  Hall. 
How  would  you  like  the  trip,  John  ?" 

"  Of  all  things  in  the  world,  if  you'd  any  use  for 
me." 

"  Well,  John,  Colonel  Robinson  says  whenever 
there  are  such  men  as  Montague  there's  use  for 
such  as  you.  So  here's  my  hand.  We  must  go 
to  the  tailor,  and  have  ourselves  made  decent,  and 
be  off." 

"  I  God,"  said  John,  laughing,  and  looking  at  his 
tattered  buckskins, "  I  don't  think  a  set  of  new  rig- 
ging would  do  me  any  harm  ;  but  don't  you  think, 
colonel,  that  a  new  suit  of  leather  would  answer 
me  best?" 

"  That  will  never  do,  John,  where  we  are  going. 
You  must  shed  that  dress,  or  the  boys  will  all  run 
after  you  in  the  streets." 

"  Why,  colonel,"  said  John,  "  in  the  part  of  Vir- 
ginia where  I  was  raised,  nobody  hardly  wears 
nothing  else ;  and  I  should  think  a  man  wasn't  such 
a  strange  sight  where  you  come  from.  But  maybe 
it's  away  down  towards  Norfolk  you  are  going, 
and  then  I  know  it  won't  do.  So  I  must  try  and 
learn  to  wear  breeches  and  shoes." 

He  went  out,  and  Balcombe,  looking  after  him 
with  a  good-humoured  smile,  turned  to  me  and 
said, 


68  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

"  Well,  William,  what  do  you  think  of  my  man 
John?" 

"  The  fellow's  worth  his  weight  in  gold,"  said  I. 

"  He's  an  extraordinary  animal,"  continued  Bal- 
combe  ;  "  and  I  hardly  know  a  more  curious  study 
than  to  follow  him  in  such  a  detail  as  he  has  just 
given  us,  and  note  the  process  of  his  mind  in  '  put- 
ting that  and  that  together,'  as  he  sometimes  says. 
His  quickness  in  tracing  actions  to  their  motives, 
and  determining  the  influence  which  the  motive 
thus  ascertained  will  have  on  other  actions,  is  even 
less  remarkable  than  his  accuracy  in  defining  the 
extent  to  which  they  may  be  depended  on.     Did 
you  observe,  that  though  he  had  no  doubt  that  that 
sort  of  attachment,  which,  in  spite  of  individual 
grievances,  men  will  form  for  those  who  have  led 
them  safely  through  danger,  would  dispose  Todd 
to  save  me,  he  was  careful  not  to  tell  him  too  much. 
He  was  not  so  very  sure  of  the  wisdom  of  letting 
the  fellow  know,  that  by  holding  his  tongue  he 
might  get  him  out  of  his  way,  and  so  establish  him- 
self in  that  pre-eminence  among  the  rogues  and 
ruffians  of  the  region,  to  which  John's  title  is  in- 
contestible ;  though,  after  him,  no  man  has  a  better 
claim  to  it  than  Todd.    John's  place  among  such 
fellows  is  something  like  that  of  Bamfylde  Moore 
Carew  among  the  beggars.    Indeed  he  often  re- 
minds me  of  the  gipsies  and  suchlike  sapient  vaga- 
bonds that  we  meet  with  in  modern  romances.    I 
don't  mean  to  speak  of  such  marvellous  creatures 
as  Edie  Ochiltree  or  Meg  Merrilies.    I  allude  to 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE, 


69 


the  innumerable  paltry  imitations  which  the  popu- 
larity of  these  characters  has  produced.  But  Scott 
himself  might  have  profited  by  a  personal  know- 
ledge of  such  a  man  as  John  Keizer.  He  would 
have  seen  that  it  was  not  necessary  to  endow  these 
creatures  of  his  fancy  with  powers  bordering  on 
the  supernatural,  so  that  they  sometimes  seem  to 
have  the  faculty  of  ubiquity,  and  sometimes  preter- 
natural means  of  knowledge.  The  spell  which  this 
{ wizard  of  the  north'  casts  on  us,  disqualifies  us  for 
observing  this  while  we  read.  We  are  ourselves 
bewitched,  and  magic  seems  nature.  But  there  is 
no  witchcraft  about  John.  We  know  whence  and 
how  he  comes ;  he  does  nothing  that  other  people 
cannot  do,  and  as  to  his  information  of  all  that  con- 
cerns him,  we  know  he  comes  by  it  by  what  he 
would  call '  a  knack  of  knowing  by  a  little  what  a 
great  deal  means.'  He  makes  no  mystery  of  the 
matter,  and  is  always  ready  to  explain  his  means 
of  knowledge.  It  is  impossible  to  tell  the  fellow 
any  three  facts,  from  which  he  will  not  instantly 
infer  a  fourth ;  and  this,  with  courage,  address,  and 
activity,  makes  up  the  sum  total  of  his  efficiency. 
"His  manner  of  telling  his  story,"  continued 
Balcombe,  "characterizes  the  operations  of  his 
mind.  You  may  perceive  that  his  language  is  not 
now  that  which  you  first  heard  from  him.  You 
were  then  a  stranger,  and  he  was  on  his  p's  and  q's 
before  you,  and  trying  to  talk  '  high  larnt'  as  he 
would  call  it.  He  now  talks  to  you  as  he  would 
to  me,  in  the  dialect  of  his  native  mountains.  It 


70 


GEORGE  BALCOMBE. 


is  one  which  we  often  see  put  into  the  mouths  of 
men  who  are  made  to  spin  out  their  narratives 
with  digressions  and  wanderings,  and  l  says  he's' 
and  '  says  IV  innumerable.  But  John's  narratives 
are  not  spun  out.  If  you  have  caught  the  run  of 
his  slang,  amuse  yourself  with  writing  down  what 
he  has  just  told  us  in  his  own  words  ;  and  then  try 
whether  you  can  by  any  means  express  the  same 
facts  and  ideas  in  good  gentlemanly  English,  as 
perspicuously  or  in  the  same  compass.  It  will  be 
an  amusing  exercise." 

I  thought  so,  and  tried  it.  The  reader  has  the 
result  of  the  first  part  of  the  experiment.  What  I 
have  given  as  John's  narrative  is  a  copy  from  what 
I  then  wrote  down.  I  shall  be  excused  from  giv- 
ing my  paraphrase.  It  turned  out  to  be  such  an 
improvement  as  paraphrases  of  the  Bible  generally 
are.  If,  instead  of  telling  John's  story  for  him,  I 
could  have  gotten  him  to  tell  mine  for  me,  we 
should  have  been  through  it  long  ago,  and  much 
more  agreeably.  Different  as  they  were,  John 
and  Balcombe  had  much  in  common.  In  describ- 
ing the  operations  of  John's  mind,  Balcombe  had 
described  his  own.  Their  principles  and  modes 
of  action  made  the  difference.  It  was  the  posses- 
sion of  these  faculties  that  had  enabled  them  to 
extricate  themselves  from  the  deep-laid  schemes 
of  the  most  artful  villain  under  the  sun.  That  Bal- 
combe would  have  ultimately  achieved  his  deliver- 
ance without  the  aid  of  Keizer  was  rendered  prob- 
able by  what  Roberts  had  said.  Indeed  John  may 


GEORGE   BALCOMBE.  71 

have  anticipated  his  commands  by  his  journey  into 
the  wilderness,  for  they  had  both  interpreted  the 
appearance  of  the  pistol  in  the  same  way.  It  is 
possible  that  a  part  of  Balcombe's  astonishing  com- 
posure, under  the  very  eye  of  danger,  may  have 
proceeded  from  his  confidence  in  the  other's  saga- 
city and  activity.  The  two  together  certainly 
constituted  a  league  of  offence  and  defence,  the 
most  efficient  imaginable.  They  called  to  my 
mind  a  remark  I  had  seen,  that  his  alliance  with 
the  dog  had  given  to  man  his  mastery  over  other 
animals.  John,  in  Balcombe's  hands,  was  the 
wild  dog,  retaining  his  courage,  his  rapacity,  and 
his  hardihood,  but  fitted  to  the  uses  of  his  master 
by  having  his  ferocity  subdued,  his  sagacity  trained, 
and  his  courage  directed  against  the  denizens  of 
his  native  forest. 


72  GEORGE  BALCOMBE. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

There's  wit  there,  ye'll  get  there 
Ye'll  find  nae  ither  where. 

BURNS. 

I  NOW  found  that  the  preparations  for  our  jour- 
ney had  never  been  entirely  discontinued,  and  they 
were  soon  completed.  A  steamboat  appeared 
passing  up  the  river,  and  we  put  ourselves  in 
readiness  for  her  return.  I  was  amused  at  the 
appearance  of  John,  when  he  presented  himself  to 
go  on  board.  As  had  been  arranged  with  Bal- 
combe,  he  was  fully  equipped  in  a  suit  of  decent 
blue,  with  hat  and  shoes.  He  did  not  look  like  a 
little  boy  when  first  breeched,  for  there  was  no 
mixture  of  pride  or  satisfaction  with  his  sheepish- 
ness.  It  was  more  like  that  same  urchin  when 
mounted  on  a  high  dunce  stool,  with  a  fool's  cap 
on  his  head.  He  thought  everybody  was  looking 
at  him,  and  that  none  looked  but  to  laugh.  And 
really  he  looked  queer  enough ;  for  he  still  carried 
his  pouch,  and  horn,  and  butcher  knife,  and  charger, 
all  slung  across  his  shoulders  in  their  greasy  belts ; 
and  in  his  hand  he  still  bore  his  heavy  rifle,  the 
barrel  looking  like  a  crowbar,  and  the  stock  seem- 
ing as  if  fashioned  with  a  hatchet. 


GEORGE   BALCOMBE.  73 

-*'  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  the  rifle,  John  ?" 
said  I. 

"Ah!  Lord,  sir,"  replied  John,  " that's  more 
than  you  or  I  knows.  You  see,  Mr.  Napier,  just 
to  pleasure  the  colonel  I  made  out  to  shed  my  lea- 
ther and  put  on  these  drotted  things ;  and  it  puts 
me  in  mind  of  the  colonel's  spaniel  dog  he  got  me 
to  shear  last  summer.  When  I  seed  the  poor 
thing  looking  round  and  trying  to  run  away  from 
himself,  it  made  me  laugh,  and  now  you've  all  got 
me  in  the  same  fix,  I  suppose  you'll  laugh  at  me. 
But  as  to  my  rifle  and  me,  sir,  we  never  parts  in 
this  life." 

We  went  on  board  in  the  evening,  after  taking 
an  affectionate  and  grateful  farewell  of  Colonel 
Robinson  and  his  lady.  I  have  said  little  of  these. 
They  have  had  no  part  in  my  story,  and  it  is  not 
my  purpose  to  detain  the  reader  with  descriptions 
of  character.  So  far  as  the  narrative  develops 
this,  I  owe  no  apology  for  the  detail  of  any  circum- 
stances that  may  illustrate  it.  I  love  these  good 
people,  and  have  reason  to  love  them.  But  if  their 
chance  to  be  remembered  in  the  world  depends  on 
my  inserting  their  panegyric  here,  they  must  die 
without  their  fame.  I  will  only  add,  that  the  kind 
old  gentleman  had  high  as  well  as  good  qualities, 
of  which,  under  another  name,  the  history  of  his 
country  bears  testimony. 

An  early  hour  the  next  day  brought  us  to  St. 
Louis.  Here  we  landed,  and  learned  that  there 
was  a  boat  bound  for  Louisville,  which  would  go 

VOL.  II. G 


74  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

the  next  day.  In  the  mean  time  Mrs.  Balcombe, 
to  whom  the  novelty  of  her  situation  had  not 
allowed  much  sleep  the  night  before,  was  glad  to  re- 
pair the  loss  at  a  public  house.  It  was  curious  to  ob- 
serve the  effect  of  this  untried  danger  on  the  nerves 
of  this  high-spirited  and  intrepid  woman.  I  have 
rarely  seen  one  more  alarmed,  though  she  did  not 
go  into  hysterics,  nor  say  nor  do  anything  to  call 
the  attention  of  others  to  her  fears.  She  overmas- 
tered them  with  the  spirit  of  George  Balcombe's 
wife,  but  could  not  triumph  over  them.  Perhaps 
the  thought  of  dangers  in  which  even  her  husband 
would  be  no  more  than  a  common  man,  left  her 
without  the  support  she  generally  found  in  her  re- 
liance upon  his  resources.  I  am  more  inclined  to 
this  opinion,  because  in  the  progress  of  our  journey 
I  did  not  find  that  use  removed  her  fears. 

As  soon  as  we  were  established  in  our  lodging, 
Balcombe  despatched  a  note  to  Shaler,  who  soon 
called,  excusing  himself  for  not  bringing  his  wife 
to  wait  on  Mrs.  Balcombe,  on  account  of  the  wea- 
ther. He  seemed  delighted  to  see  Balcombe,  and 
his  feelings  were  wrought  into  quite  a  tumult  of 
pleasure,  at  the  thought  of  introducing  him  to  his 
friends.  For  this  purpose,  he  invited  us  to  spend 
the  evening  with  him,  proposing  to  have  a  number 
of  gentlemen  to  meet  us.  This  courtesy  was 
frankly  declined  by  Balcombe,  on  account  of  his 
wife,  who  could  not  go,  and  whom  he  did  not  wish 
to  leave  in  solitude. 

"  But,"  said  he,  "  to  show  you  that  I  am  not  in- 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  75 

sensible  to  your  kindness,  nor  to  the  value  of  the 
favour  you  propose  to  do  me,  I  will  avail  myself 
of  your  good  offices  for  a  purpose  but  slightly  dif- 
ferent I  think  I  know  who  the  friends  must  be 
to  whom  you  propose  to  introduce  me.  If  I  am 
right,  they  are  gentlemen  of  whose  acquaintance  I 

am  ambitious.  Such,  for  example,  as  H ,  and 

B ,  and  B ,  and  W ,  and  G ." 

"They  are  the  very  men  I  was  thinking  of," 
said  Shaler. 

"  Well,"  said  Balcombe,  "  would  it  be  asking 
too  much  of  them  to  give  an  evening  to  a  stranger, 
or  of  you,  to  beg  you  to  use  your  influence  to  bring 
them  here  ?" 

Shaler  hesitated  a  moment ;  at  length, 

"  If  it  cannot  be  managed  otherwise,"  said  he, 
"  I  will  do  so  with  great  pleasure." 

"  I  would  also  name  Whitehead,"  said  Balcombe, 
"  but  I  dislike  to  ask  anything  of  a  man,  who,  hav- 
ing already  served  me,  will  neither  receive  money 
nor  thanks,  and  cares  nothing  for  my  gratitude." 

"  He  is  a  strange  fellow,"  said  Shaler  ;  "  a  man 
of  wonderful  powers  ;  but  of  irregular  education, 
irregular  feelings,  appetites,  impulses,  and  princi- 
ples. Sometimes  these  pull  against  each  other, 
and  then  he  is  a  kind  of  amphisbo3na.  There  is  no 
knowing  which  end  will  go  foremost.  But  some- 
times they  all  tend  the  same  way,  and  then  he 
moves  like  a  rocket,  with  an  energy  and  brilliancy 
truly  astonishing.  I  think  I  can  foresee  that  they 
will  coincide  to  bring  him  here ;  and  if  they  should 


76 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


prompt  him  to  show  off,  you  will  discover  that  he 
is  an  extraordinary  man.  If  you  will  give  me 
leave,  I  will  bring  Mr.  Napier's  acquaintance,  Mr, 
Green,  our  worthy  sheriff.  I  propose  this,  not  so 
much  for  your  sake  as  his.  The  interest  he  has 
expressed  in  you  is  my  warrant  that  it  would  give 
him  great  pleasure  to  see  you.  You  will  find  him 
somewhat  formal  in  his  manners,  and  precise  in  his 
notions ;  but  his  honour  and  truth,  his  strict  princi- 
ples and  good  sense,  make  him  a  desirable  acquaint- 
ance and  inestimable  friend." 

Having  received  Balcombe's  cheerful  assent  to 
this  proposal,  he  left  us.  Wine,  cigars,  &c.,  were 
now  ordered  to  our  room.  Shaler  returned,  ac- 
companied by  two  gentlemen.  One  by  one,  the 
rest  dropped  in,  each  wearing  an  air  of  empresse- 
ment  and  respect  in  approaching  Balcombe.  White- 
head  alone  came  in  with  something  like  the  care- 
less movement  between  a  swagger  and  a  lounge, 
which  I  had  seen  him  assume  when  requested  by 
Shaler  to  watch  the  interests  of  Balcombe  in  the 
trial.  I  was  offended,  too,  at  the  glance  he  cast 
at  Mrs.  Baleombe,  and  glad  her  husband  did  not 
see  it.  She  did ;  and  Whitehead  must  have  had 
very  little  tact  if  he  had  not  discovered  that  it  was 
not  well  received.  Jlis  manner  underwent  an  in- 
stantaneous change,  and  he  was  from  that  moment 
polite,  circumspect,  and  regardful  of  all  the  deco- 
rums of  polished  society. 

The  evening  passed  off  delightfully ;  and  I  was 
filled  with  amazement  at  finding  myself,  in  that 


GEORGE   BALCOMBE.  77 

remote  region,  in  company,  not  only  with  polished 
gentlemen,  but  men  whose  extent  of  information 
was  great,  and  whose  reach  of  thought  is  rarely 
surpassed.  The  names  of  some  of  them  since  oc- 
cupy places  in  the  history  of  the  Union,  and  of  the 
different  states,  which  fully  justify  the  estimate  I 
then  formed  of  them. 

I  remember  no  particulars  of  that  evening,  and 
regret  it.  There  was  not  much  display  of  wit, 
and  none  of  learning,  but  there  were  sprightliness, 
readiness,  good  sense,  vividness  of  thought  and 
force  of  language,  such  as  I  had  rarely  found. 
Balcombe  talked  little.  He  was  too  polite  to  take 
the  lead  in  such  a  company  of  his  own  guests,  and 
he  could  not  talk  without  doing  so.  I  do  not  mean 
to  say  that  he  was  the  first  man  there ;  but  such 
was  his  style  of  talk.  He  conversed  rather  with 
his  own  thoughts  than  with  those  of  others.  Was 
this  habit  formed  in  solitude?  Perhaps  so.  And 
from  long  association  with  those  who  looked  to 
him  alone  for  light.  To  all  such  it  was  poured 
out  as  a  spontaneous  emanation.  But  I  now  saw 
plainly  that  in  a  drawingroom  he  might  seem  dull. 
The  give  and  take  of  flippant  chitchat  he  had  no 
talent  for.  Once  or  twice  he  threw  off  in  his  own 
peculiar  style,  and  I  then  saw  that  he  justified  in 
the  estimation  of  his  hearers,  the  favourable  rep- 
resentations which  Shaler  had  doubtless  made  of 
him. 

When  we  were  alone,  I  expressed  to  Balcombe 
my  surprise  at  seeing  an  amount  of  talent  in  that 


78  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

remote  country,  so  vastly  disproportioned  to  its 
total  population. 

"  The  remoteness  of  the  country,"  said  he,  "  ex- 
plains the  phenomenon.  There  is  no  article  of 
value  so  easy  of  transportation  as  talent.  Hence 
we  have  more  of  it  than  of  more  bulky  and  less 
valuable  articles.  I  asked  for  herrings  for  supper, 
and  was  told  they  are  never  brought  here;  but 
here,  you  see,  are  raisins,  almonds,  and  olives,  to 
our  Madeira  and  Champagne.  To  have  come 
here,  too,  as  early  as  these  gentlemen  did,  implies 
energy,  and  energy  is  talent,  and  the  parent  of 
talent.  Few  fools  have  sense  enough  to  lose  their 
way  to  such  a  distance  from  home.  But  that  is 
not  all.  Men's  minds  are  whetted  against  each 
other,  *  as  iron  sharpeneth  iron  ;'  and  though  men 
here  are  fewer,  their  collisions  are  more  frequent, 
of  more  importance  and  violence.  Hence  a  man 
learns  here  what  he  will  learn  nowhere  else  so 
well.  He  learns  to  take  care  of  himself  and  to 
think  for  himself.  One  of  the  gentlemen  who  has 
just  left  us  is  about  to  return  to  his  native  state, 
having  found  this  theatre,  I  presume,  too  narrow 
for  him.  And  so  it  undoubtedly  is  for  the  per- 
formance of  his  part  in  the  drama  of  life,  but  not 
for  the  study  and  rehearsal  of  it.  Nor  does  he 
think  so. 

"  I  have  been  here,"  said  he,  "  five  years,  and 
am  five  thousand  dollars  poorer  than  I  came  ;  but 
I  have  wasted  neither  time  nor  money.  How 
comes  it  I  know  not,  but  .^:  -. 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

There's  wit  here,  ye'll  get  here 
You'll  find  nae  ither  where.' 


79 


"  He  said  rightly,  and  I  make  no  doubt  that  that 
gentleman  carries  with  him  powers  acquired  here 
by  which  he  will  at  once  break  down  the  barriers 
that  formerly  obstructed  the  path  of  his  ambition. 
And  there  is  another  cause  of  the  phenomenon  you 
observe.  Talent  is  ambitious.  It  is  impatient  of 
a  second  place  in  society.  Talent  of  the  very  first 
order  stands  its  ground  and  fights  its  way  up  to 
the  first  place  on  a  lofty  theatre.  It  aspires  to  be 
great  among  the  great.  Inferior  talent,  but  still 
respectable,  is  often  driven  by  this  impatience  to 
seek  easier  triumphs,  and  is  content  to  be  great 
among  the  little.  Hence  you  find  here  many  very 
efficient  men,  many  men  of  very  considerable  pow- 
ers and  acquirements.  But  you  will  see  few  of 
the  very  first  order ;  for  if  such,  mistaking  them- 
selves, should  come  here  in  youth,  they  will  go 
away  as  soon  as  they  discover  their  mistake." 

We  were  at  length  afloat  on  the  Mississippi, 
which,  below  St.  Louis,  retains  all  the  turbulent 
appearance  of  the  Missouri,  enlarging  itself  in 
breadth  and  depth.  As  I  looked  down  from  the 
deck  of  the  boat  on  the  turbid  thick  water,  boiling 
up  continually  from  the  bottom  in  surges  that 
break  the  surface,  and  spread  like  the  head  of  a 
cauliflower,!  was  awfully  reminded  of  John's  say- 
ing that  the  Missouri  never  lets  go  a  man  that  falls 
in  with  his  clothes  on.  I  felt  all  the  force  of  By- 
ron's expression,  "a  hell  of  waters,"  applied  by  him 


80  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

to  a  different  appearance,  but  surely  never  more 
applicable  than  to  this.  I  was  impatient  to  be  on 
the  tranquil  bosom  of  the  Ohio}  and  felt  a  good 
deal  of  the  awe  that  displayed  itself  in  Mrs.  Bal- 
combe's  countenance. 

The  first  evening  was  chiefly  occupied  in  ma- 
king ourselves  at  home.  The  captain,  a  manly 
and  civil  man,  was  particularly  polite  to  Balcombe 
and  myself.  Every  arrangement  was  made  to.  our 
satisfaction ;  and  we  went  to  our  berths  in  health, 
spirits,  and  comfort,  and  full  of  hope. 

On  waking  in  the  morning  I  had  the  mortifica- 
tion to  find  that  we  had  lain  all  night  at  St.  Gene- 
vieve.  Leaving  that  place,  there  seemed  no  end 
to  the  occasions  which  offered  for  touching  at  dif- 
ferent points  on  the  Missouri  side  of  the  river.  I 
was  vexed,  too,  at  a  change  in  the  captain's  deport- 
ment. I  could  obtain  no  answer  to  any  inquiry, 
and  to  Balcombe  his  manner  was  yet  more  repul- 
sive. The  passengers,  1  thought,  treated  us  with 
scant  courtesy,  and  my  situation  on  the  whole  was 
quite  uncomfortable.  I  saw  that  Balcombe  re- 
marked the  same  things,  and  that  they  only  drew 
from  him  a  quiet  and  somewhat  humorous  smile. 
My  impatience,  however,  was  not  to  be  governed ; 
and  seeing  the  boat  rounding-to  at  the  little  village 
of  Bainbridge,  I  expressed  my  vexation  in  the  hear- 
ing of  the  captain,  who  said  significantly, 

"  You  and  your  friends,  sir,  seem  in  a  great  hurry 
to  get  out  of  Missouri." 

I  looked  at  Balcombe,  who  heard  this,  and  was 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  81 

surprised  to  see  the  same  smile  still  on  his  face. 
He  took  me  to  the  table,  and  opening  the  register 
which  lay  there,  turned  to  the  list  of  passengers  in 
a  trip  made  about  a  month  before,  and  pointed  to 
the  name  of  Edward  Montague. 

«  Good  God  1"  said  I,  "  is  it  possible  that  wretch 
has  prepared  any  trouble  for  us  here  ?" 

"  It  would  be  perfectly  in  character,"  said  Bal- 
combe,  and  turned  away. 

We  stopped  but  a  few  moments,  and  presently 
touched  again  at  Cape  Girardeau. 

"  I  don't  think,"  said  the  captain,  "  you'll  have 
to  complain  of  any  more  stops  after  this." 

"  As  he  said  this,  passing  me  to  go.  on  shore,  I 
thought  I  saw  something  like  a  sneer  on  his  coun- 
tenance. He  was  gone  half  an  hour,  and  came 
back  accompanied  by  several  men.  Pointing  to 
Balcombe^  and  Keizer,  he  said,  "  These  are  the 
men ;"  and  they  were  instantly  arrested.  Bal- 
combe  asked  for  the  warrant.  It  was  shown  him. 
The  affidavit.  It  was  presented,  and  proved  to  be 
a  duplicate  of  that  affidavit  of  Montague's  of  which 
I  had  a  copy. 

"  Is  the  justice  who  issued  this  warrant  present  ?" 
said  Balcombe. 

"  He  is,"  said  the  constable,  pointing  to  one  of 
the  new  comers. 

"  I  will  thank  you  to  read  that  paper,  sir,"  said 
Balcombe,  handing  a  record  of  his  acquittal,  duly 
authenticated. 

The  justice,  the  constable,  and  the  captain,  all 


82  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

looked  at  it  with  an  air  of  dissatisfaction.    At  last 
the  justice  said, 

"  Well,  I  suppose  it  must  be  so.  As  to  how  the 
jury  got  over  the  facts  mentioned  in  that  affidavit, 
it's  no  business  of  mine.  So  1  suppose  I  must 
withdraw  the  warrant." 

"  Will  you  have  the  goodness,"  said  Balcombe, 
"  to  look  over  this  other  paper  ?" 

The  justice  did  so,  and  his  countenance  changed 
instantly. 

"  This  is  all  right,"  said  he.  "  I  know  Shaler ; 
this  is  his  handwriting  ;  and  he's  never  the  man  to 
think  a  case  against  him  unless  its  very  clear." 

The  captain  now  looked  over  the  paper,  and 
turning  to  Balcombe,  apologized  with  great  ear- 
nestness for  the  indignity  offered  him.  Then  ad- 
dressing himself  to  the  company,  he  explained  that 
Montague,  on  coming  aboard,  had  place^  the  affi- 
davit in  his  hands,  to  be  used,  as  he  said,  if  neces- 
sary, in  preventing  the  escape  of  two  of  the  most 
artful  men  on  earth. 

He  had  made  a  merit,  it  seems,  of  his  reluctance 
to  appear  against  Balcombe,  who  had  been  a  friend 
in  early  youth ;  but  said  that  the  appearance  of 
Keizer  in  St.  Louis,  flying  from  justice,  had  awa- 
kened him  to  a  juster  sense  of  his  duty  to  his  coun- 
try. The  captain  now,  by  Balcombe's  permission, 
read  aloud  the  record  of  the  verdict,  and  Shaler's 
affidavit,  certified  by  the  clerk  of  St.  Louis  county, 
setting  forth  the  whole  affair,  and  his  late  relation 
to  the  parties,  in  their  true  light.  Having  gone 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  83 

through  with  the  papers,  the  captain  said  that  he 
had  taken  that  office  on  himself  as  a  proof  of  his 
concern  at  what  had  passed,  and  expressed  a  hope 
that  it  was  forgiven.  Balcombe  assured  him  that 
it  was,  and  that  he  had  not  been  at  all  surprised  at 
what  had  passed,  as  was  manifested  by  his  pre- 
caution in  procuring  those  papers.  His  knowledge 
of  Montague  had  taught  him,  he  said,  that  there 
could  be  no  safety  but  in  believing  of  him  all  sorts 
of  evil,  and  guarding  against  all  sorts  of  mischief. 

I  now  expressed  my  concern  at  this  new  outrage 
to  the  feelings  of  Mrs.  Balcombe  ;  but  he  said  he 
had  put  her  on  her  guard.  He  had  seen  Mon- 
tague's name,  and  marked  the  changed  demeanour 
of  the  captain  and  company  on  finding  ours.  He 
knew  that  a  proper  occasion  for  explanation  would 
offer,  though  he  had  not  anticipated  the  nature  of 
it.  He  had  awaited  it  patiently,  and  charged  his 
wife  to  keep  her  cabin  till  all  was  over. 

He  now  went  to  her,  and  I  was  asked  to  give 
the  history  of  his  adventure.  This  I  did  to  the 
whole  assembled  company.  Its  effect  was  to  make 
Balcombe  the  lion  of  the  day  ;  and  even  John,  who 
had  been  slinking  about  in  his  inconvenient  broad- 
cloth, and  looking  as  sheepish  as  if  he  thought 
everybody  was  observing  his  dress,  became  a  man 
of  consequence.  It  was  soon  found  that  he  had 
been  where  few  had  been,  and  seen  what  few  had 
seen;  and  he  was  a  perfect  oracle  among  the 
younger  passengers,  on  the  subject  of  bears,  and 
buffaloes,  and  wolves,  and  wild  horses,  and  salt 


84  GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  " 

mountains,  and,  above  all,  of  Indians.  He  had 
killed  his  man,  he  had  taken  scalps,  and  nothing 
but  the  loss  of  his  own  could  have  made  him  a 
man  of  more  consequence  than  he  was.  I  was 
afraid  so  much  attention  might  make  him  foolishly 
vain ;  but  there  was  no  such  danger.  John  had 
not  enough  respect  for  those  to  whom  tales  of 
manhood,  as  he  called  it,  were  new  and  strange,  to 
be  flattered  by  their  notice. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

Of  all  men,  saving  Sylla  the  manslayer, 

Who  passes  for  in  life  and  death  most  lucky, 

Of  the  great  names  that  in  our  faces  stare, 

The  General  Boon,  backwoodsman  of  Kentucky, 

"Was  happiest  among  mortals  anywhere. 

BYRON. 

THE  character  of  Balcombe's  adventure  was 
such  as  to  make  him  a  favourite  with  the  ladies, 
and  to  give  him  the  entree  of  their  cabin.  In  this 
arrangement  I  was  easily  included,  and  we  passed 
many  of  the  hours  of  our  long  voyage  in  pleasant 
conversation  with  them.  Frequently,  too,  we 
used  our  privilege  as  the  means  of  securing  us  a 
pleasant  seat  on  the  stern  gallery  of  the  boat,  where 


GEORGE    BAL€OMBE,  85 

we  could  converse  without  interruption.  Here 
Balcombe  occasionally  entertained  me  with  histo- 
ries of  his  wild  adventures  on  the  Spanish  frontier, 
during  the  tumultuous  occurrences  of  Taledo's  in- 
surrection, in  which  he  had  taken  a  part.  I  could 
not  help  remarking  my  surprise  that  he  had  ever 
returned  to  peaceful  life,  instead  of  ending  his 
days  in  scenes  so  rife  with  pleasurable  excitement, 
and  to  which  his  peculiar  talents  so  well  fitted 
him, 

"  You  are  mistaken  there,  William,"  said  he  ;  "  I 
have  little  doubt  I  should  have  been  now  roaming 
the  wilderness  in  quest  of  adventures,  had  I  not 
been  deficient  in  an  indispensable  faculty." 

"  What  is  that  ?"  said  I. 

"  I  believe,"  he  replied,  "  the  phrenologists  call 
it  the  organ  of  locality.  I  have  no  recollection  of 
place.  It  was  this  defect  that  caused  the  loss  of 
life  in  the  action  I  detailed  to  you  in  Missouri, 
Had  I  seen  the  ground,  which  I  had  traversed 
limes  without  number,  with  the  mind's  eye,  as  I  saw 
it  on  the  spot,  I  have  little  doubt  I  should  have  given 
the  captain  such  timely  advice  as  would  have 
saved  him  and  his  men.  All  that  I  can  do  is  to 
look  with  a  soldier's  eye  on  what  is  actually  before 
me.  But  to  remember  places  exactly  as  they  are, 
and  to  recognise  them  when  I  see  them,  is  not 
given  to  me.  That  is  the  faculty  of  these  pilots. 
When  their  watch  comes,  they  rouse  themselves, 
look  out,  and  know  at  once  where  they  are.  Kei- 
ZQT  has  it.  Turn  him  into  the  hills  here,  and  he 

VOL.  ii. — a 


86  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

would  come  back  to  the  river  as  certainly  and 
directly  as  a  stone  falls  to  the  earth.  On  reaching 
it,  too,  he  would  know  at  a  glance  whether  he  had 
ever  been  there  before. 

"  It  was  this  that  made  Daniel  Boon  so  remark- 
able a  man.  He  was  otherwise  distinguished  for 
nothing  but  a  strange  compound  of  quiet  and  rest- 
lessness. He  loved  solitude,  and  was  one  of  the 
mildest  and  most  peaceable  men  I  ever  knew." 

"  You  knew  him,  then?" 

"  Oh  yes ;  very  well.  He  is  now  living  not  very 
far  from  me  in  Missouri.  I  could  tell  you  instances 
in  which  this  faculty  has  displayed  itself  in  a  man- 
ner that  really  seemed  miraculous." 

He  went  on  to  speak  of  these,  and  mentioned 
one  which  I  hope  the  reader  will  pardon  me  for 
detailing.  Coming  to  me  from  the  lips  of  an  eye- 
witness, I  regard  it  as  authentic  enough  to  deserve 
a  place  in  my  story. 

"  Forty  years  ago,"  said  Balcombe,  "  Daniel 
Boon  was  much  employed  to  make  locations  of 
land  in  Kentucky.  Being  in  the  midst  of  danger, 
he  was  obliged  to  devise  means  to  fix  the  locality 
of  each  tract  without  marking  lines  around  it.  His 
plan  was  to  mark  a  corner,  declare  the  quantity, 
and  that  it,  was  laid  off  in  a  square,  the  diagonal 
of  which  was  in  a  given  direction.  Nothing  could 
be  more  precise  than  this  ;  it  identified  the  land  as 
certainly  as  a  mathematical  point.  The  difficulty 
was  to  find  the  corner  tree,  where  its  place  was 
not  indicated  by  notorious  natural  objects. 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  87 

"  This  difficulty  brought  many  of  Boon's  loca- 
tions into  dispute.  He  had  made  some  such  in  a 
part  of  the  country  in  which  ten  years  ago  there 
were  still  but  few  inhabitants,  and  which  he  had 
not  visited  for  thirty  years.  About  that  time  they 
became  a  subject  of  litigation.  I  had  purchased 
one  of  them.  Colonel  Boon  lived  at  a  distance, 
and  was  very  old.  Joining  with  those  circum- 
stanced like  myself,  we  raised  a  sum  of  money 
sufficient  to  compensate  him  for  his  long  journey. 
Our  title  to  something  was  indisputable — but  what 
was  it  ?  Our  locations  were  the  oldest  in  the  coun- 
try, and  all  others  must  give  way  to  them — but 
where  were  they  ?  These  questions  he  alone 
could  answer. 

"  Having  drawn  him  from  his  distant  home,  all 
concerned  travelled  with  him  to  the  part  of  the 
country  where  the  lands  were  said  to  lie.  Our 
first  object  was  to  find  the  corner  of  a  friend  of 
mine.  The  old  man  went  to  the  nearest  of  the 
old  stations,  as  they  were  called,  and  from  thence 
set  out,  followed  by  the  rest  of  us.  Our  care  was 
to  observe,  but  not  to  interrupt  him.  We  trusted 
him  as  the  sportsman  trusts  his  pointer.  He  took 
his  course,  and  travelled  many  miles  into  the  wil- 
derness, apparently  musing,  and  closely  observing 
every  object.  Towards  the  close  of  the  day  he 
was  seen  to  stop,  look  around,  and  meditate  with 
an  air  of  long  abstraction.  At  length,  speaking 
rather  to  himself  than  to  us,  he  said,  in  short  sen- 
tences, pausing  and  musing  between, 


88 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


**  *  I  know  this  place.  The  night  before  I  estab- 
lished that  corner  I  camped  here.  It  rained  that 
day,  and  two  of  my  men,  when  they  shot  off  their 
rifles  to  clean  them,  fired  them  at  a  mark  on  a 
beech  tree,  somewhere  there/ 

"  He  pointed  as  he  said  this,  and  we,  following 
the  direction  of  his  hand,  found  a  beech,  on  the 
bark  of  which  were  two  small  round  swelling 
spots,  near  enough  to  each  other  to  have  been 
made  by  shots  fired  at  the  same  mark.  We  cut 
into  the  tree,  and  found  two  balls.  The  rings  in 
the  wood  showed  that  the  wounds  had  been  given 
in  the  same  year  in  which  the  location  was  made. 
Now,  I  assure  you  I  saw  nothing  in  that  spot  by 
which  I  could  have  distinguished  it  from  a  hun- 
dred I  had  passed  that  day. 

"  At  length  we  moved  on,  and  in  half  a  mile 
reached   a  little  open  space,  perhaps  twenty  or 
thirty  yards  across.     Here  again  Boon  stopped, 
and  again  speaking  as  before,  said, 

"  *  I  know  this  place.  We  stopped  here  to  dry 
our  blankets  and  get  our  breakfasts.  John  Hen- 
derson marked  his  name  on  one  of  these  trees. 
While  we  staid  here  Andrew  Jones  went  out  and 
shot  a  deer  close  by.  The  corner  is  about  two 
miles  from  here/ 

"  As  soon  as  this  was  said  we  began  to  look  for 
Henderson's  name,  but  we  looked  in  vain.  We 
then  took  the  course  indicated  by  the  old  man,  to 
see  if  we  could  find  any  trace  of  Jones ;  and  we 
actually  found  his  initials  A.  J.  on  a  tree.  We 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  89 

now  resumed  our  search  for  the  other  name. 
There  stood,  on  the  margin  of  the  open  space,  the 
remains  of  a  tree,  the  top  of  which  had  been 
broken  off,  ten  or  twelve  feet  from  the  ground. 
The  trunk  was  decayed  and  covered  with  moss. 
This  was  now  stripped  off,  and  beneath  was  the 
name  of  John  Henderson,  at  full  length.  The  old 
man  now  resumed  his  course,  and,  plunging  into 
the  forest,  brought  us,  in  two  or  three  miles,  to  a 
tree,  answering,  point  by  point,  to  the  description 
in  his  entry  of  location.* 

"  It  is  this  faculty,"  continued  Balcombe,  "  which 
makes  the  boundless  waste  of  forest  or  prairie 
familiar  as  the  home  of  his  childhood,  that  qualifies 
a  man  to  excel  in  the  wild  enterprises  to  which 
I  was  too  prone.  Wanting  it,  I  was  forced  to  use 
those  who  possessed  it.  There  is  my  man  John, 
whom  I  caught  young,  (for  he  was  a  boy  at  the 
time,)  and  tamed  to  my  uses.  He  was  to  me,  in 
this  respect,  what  the  horse  is  to  the  man.  But  I 
could  not  always  have  him  with  me  ;  and  alone  J 
was  a  fool,  and  no  match  for  a  native  centaur  of 
the  wild." 

I  could  fill  a  volume  with  strange  and  interesting 
narratives  with  which  Balcombe  amused  me,  du- 
ring our  long  though  rapid  journey.  The  journey 
itself  was  not  without  incident,  but  only  such  as 
can  hardly  fail  to  happen  to  every  traveller  in  a 

*  The  reader  is  assured  that  this  account  is  given,  (excepting 
names,  which  are  not  remembered,)  exactly  as  the  writer  received 
it  from  an  eyewitness  of  unquestioned  veracity, 
H  2 


90  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

route  of  a  thousand  miles.  But  every  one  may 
make  the  same  trip  for  himself ;  and,  among  our 
people,  roaming  like  Tartars  over  this  vast  conti- 
nent, there  are  few  who  have  not  made  or  will  not 
make  it.  But  the  adventures  I  have  detailed,  and 
those  which  yet  remain  to  be  told,  are  such  as  do 
not  happen  to  every  man ;  and  no  man  would  en- 
counter them  by  choice. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  toils  are  pitched  and  the  stakes  are  set  ,- 

Ever  sing  merrily,  merrily  ; 
The  bows  they  bend  and  the  knives  they  whet, 

Hunters  live  so  cheerily. 

It  was  a  stag,  a  stag  of  ten, 
f   Bearing  his  branches  sturdily  ; 
He  came  stately  down  the  glen, 
Ever  sing  hardily,  hardily. 

He  had  an  eye  and  he  could  heed. 

SCOTT. 

ON  our1  arrival  at  Wheeling  we  lost  no  time  in 
securing  our  seats  in  the  stage,  and  prepared  to 
proceed  on  our  journey  the  same  evening.  It  was 
amusing  to  see  how  John,  who  never  in  his  life 
had  been  so  long  pent  up  before,  crawled  out  of  his 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  91 

confinement,  looking  for  all  the  world  like  a  bagged 
fox.  Not  even  when  he  came  in  from  his  forced 
march  to  the  Sac  River,  had  I  seen  him  so  com- 
pletely worn  out  and  divested  of  his  energy.  He 
yawned  and  stretched  his  limbs,  and  looked  around 
on  the  houses  and  people,  as  on  things  of  no  inter- 
est to  him.  At  last  he  lazily  raised  his  rifle,  and 
fixing  his  eye  on  the  head  of  a  nail  in  the  wreck  of 
an  old  flat  boat,  drove  it  through  the  plank.  He 
said  nothing,  and  did  not  even  smile,  but  I  saw  by 
a  twinkle  of  his  black  eye  that  he  was  waking  up. 

"  If  that  had  been  a  squirrel's  eye,  John !" 
said  I. 

"  Ah,  Lord  !  Mr.  Napier,  if  I  could  only  take  a 
turn  through  these  hills  for  a  day  or  two,  Pd  show 
you  something  better  than  squirrels/' 

"  What  would  that  be  ?" 

"  Bear  meat,"  he  replied. 

"  Would  you  expect  to  find  bears  in  a  country 
so  populous  as  this  ?" 

"  It's  mighty  hard  to  drive  the  bear  out  of  such 
a  rough  country  as  this  ;  and  as  to  the  people,  that 
makes  no  odds  if  they  an't  of  the  right  sort.  I 
dare  say  they  don't  know  there's  a  bear  in  the 
country." 

"  And  why  do  you  think  there  is  V 

"  I  see  plenty  of  sign,  sir,  along  the  river  where 
we  stop  to  get  wood,  and  there's  a  fine  beech 
mast  this  year,  and  the  bears  are  busy  lapping 
now,  as  boys  in  a  cherry  tree." 

"  Lapping !"  said  I ;  «  what's  that?' 


92  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

11  Why,  you  see,  sir,  a  bear  has  got  hands  almost 
like  a  man,  and  when  he  gets  up  in  a  tree  he's  so 
heavy  he  can't  go  out  on  the  branches,  and  the 
creature's  amazing  strong,  so  he  gets  hold  of  them 
and  pulls  them  in,  or  maybe  breaks  them  off;  and 
that's  what  we  call  lapping.  So  you  see,  sir,  when 
we  find  the  branches  lying  about  in  the  woods,  we 
know  there's  bears  about ;  and  when  we  see  the 
marks  of  their  nails  on  the  smooth  bark  of  the 
beech  trees,  then  we  stop  and  listen  every  now  and 
then ;  and  presently  we  hear  snap,  snap,  and  it's 
sure  to  be  a  bear  up  a  tree." 

"  I  suppose  you  have  him  safe  enough,"  said  I, 
"  when  you  catch  him  there." 

"  Not  always,  sir ;  if  he  sees  you  or  hears  you 
coming  before  you  get  a  shoot  at  him,  he's  mighty 
apt  to  be  off,  unless  you  have  a  dog  to  stop  him." 

11  I  have  been  told,"  said  I,  "  that  they  climb  like 
sailors,  but  are  awkward  in  coming  down." 

"  I  God !"  said  John,  "  they  don't  stand  on  climb- 
ing at  such  times.  If  the  tree  is  one  hundred  feet 
high,  the  fellow  just  lets  go  all  holds,  and  claps  his 
head  between  his  arms  and  rolls  himself  as  round 
as  a  hoop,  and  down  he  comes  like  a  hairy  worm. 
Lord  !  if  1  have  not  seen  them  fall  on  a  steep  hill- 
side, and  roll  away  to  the  bottom  just  the  same  as 
a  wagon  wheel." 

"  Does  it  never  kill  them  ?"  asked  I. 

"Lord  !  no,  sir.  It  does  not  even  bruise  them. 
You  see,  sir,  the  fleece  saves  them." 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


93 


"  But  their  fleece  is  not  so  thick  as  that  of  a 
sheep,  and  such  a  fall  would  kill  a  sheep." 

John  looked  at  me  a  moment  in  some  perplex- 
ity, and  then  laughing  said, 

"  Oh,  you  are  thinking  about  the  fur,  but  I  don't 
mean  that.  What  we  call  the  fleece  is  the  hard 
coat  of  fat  outside  like  a  hog,  maybe  three  or  four 
inches  thick.  You  cannot  hurt  a  fat  hog  if  you  hit 
him  in  the  body  ;  and  the  fleece  of  a  bear  will  stop 
a  ball  if  your  powder  and  all  are  not  very  good. 
And  you  see,  sir,  when  we  are  away  out  of  the 
settlements,  and  bears  are  plenty,  we  cannot  bring 
in  all  we  kill,  so  we  just  take  the  skins  and 
fleeces." 

When  we  took  our  places  in  the  stage,  John, 
whose  rifle  would  have  been  in  the  way  in  the 
body  of  the  coach,  gladly  seated  himself  beside  the 
driver ;  and  as  he  was  perfectly  at  home  with  such 
characters,  they  were  soon  well  acquainted.  I 
could  hear  their  voices  and  frequently  a  laugh,  but 
that  was  all;  but  when  we  stopped  to  change 
horses,  I  saw  that  they  were  as  intimate  as  bro- 
thers. John,  glad  of  employment,  soon  learned  to 
lend  a  hand  in  gearing,  and  commenced  the  next 
stage,  more  than  half  acquainted  with  his  new 
companion.  In  the  body  of  the  coach  we  had  an 
intelligent  company  of  communicative  men,,  and 
were  soon  too  much  engaged  in  conversation  to 
feel  the  want  of  him  ;  so  that  we  hardly  heard  a 
word  from  him  for  a  day  or  more.  . 

On  reaching  the  Alleghany  Mountain,  we  were 


94  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

to  pass  the  night  (from  ten  to  three)  at  a  public 
house  on  the  top.  On  our  arrival  we  found  supper 
ready,  and  having  swallowed  a  few  mouthfuls, 
were  hurrying  to  bed,  when  John  caught  Bal- 
combe's  eye,  and  coming  near  said, 

"  I  want  to  talk  with  you,  gentlemen,  where 
nobody  can  see  us." 

"  Go  out,  then,"  said  Balcombe,  "  and  we  will 
follow  you." 

He  did  so ;  and  we  saw  him  walk  off  in  a  direc- 
tion opposite  to  that  to  the  stables,  where  we  saw 
the  gleaming  of  lanterns,  and  the  figures  of  men 
moving  about.  John  soon  stopped,  and  we  came 
up  with  him. 

"  Colonel,"  said  he,  "  all  isn't  right  here,  I'm  a 
thinking.  Maybe  you'd  better  not  go  on  in  the 
morning.  But  I'll  just  tell  you  all,  and  you'll  know 
best." 

"  Go  on,  John,"  said  Balcombe,  "  and  then  we'll 
consult  about  it." 

"  Well,  sir,"  continued  John,  "  you  see  I'm 
mighty  thick  with  all  these  drivers,  and  I  tell  'em 
strange  things  about  hunting,  and  Indians,  and  the 
like ;  and  I  have  my  fun  out  of  them,  'cause,  you 
see,  it  an't  no  use  to  be  always  sticking  to  the 
truth,  when  a  fellow  wants  to  hear  something  sorter 
miraculous.  So  you  see  I'm  a  mighty  man  among 
them,  and  as  it  happens,  I  haven't  never  said  nothing 
about  you,  and  they  don't  know  as  I  knows  you. 
So  to-night,  sir,  when  we  stopped  to  change  horses 
last  time,  I  was  setting  on  the  dickey  (I  think  they 


GEORGE   BALCOMBE.  95 

call  it)  and  you  was  in  the  tavern.  So  when  the 
driver  takes  his  seat,  he  opens  a  tin  box  I  see  them 
carry,  and  he  takes  up  a  paper,  and  holds  it  to  the 
lantern  and  looks  at  it,  and  says  he, 

" '  Balcombe  !  Balcombe  !  Is  there  a  gentleman 
of  the  name  of  Balcombe  in  the  stage  T 

"  '  Yes,'  says  I ; '  do  you  know  such  a  man  V 

"  *  No,'  says  he ;  {  only  it's  a  strange  sort  of  a 
name.  Which  is  the  man  ?' 

"  *  That  one  as  wears  the  blanket  capot,'  says  I. 

"  So  then  he  blows  his  trumpet,  and  the  colonel 
comes  out,  and  just  stops  under  the  lantern  at  the 
door,  and  I  sees  the  fellow  look  mighty  hard  at 
him.  And  then  I  hears  him  talking  to  himself,  and 
says  he, 

" '  Balcombe  !  Balcombe  !  that's  the  very  name.' 

"  So  I  gets  to  considering,  and  we  starts  off,  and 
after  a  while  says  he, 

"  '  An't  this  Mr.  Balcombe  from  Missouri?' 

"  *  I  believe  he  is,'  says  I. 

"  So  he  says  no  more  just  then  ;  and  he  hadn't 
much  to  say  nohow,  but  just  kept  a  study inglike, 
and  at  last  says  he, 

"  *  Do  you  know  which  way  a  man  would  go 
from  here  down  into  Essex  county  in  Virginia  V 

"  1  didn't  know  no  more  than  a  child,  and  I  told 
him  so;  but  then,  thinks  I,  an't  that  where  they 
say  Montague's  gone  ?  Sol  was  glad  that  I  did 
not  let  him  know  that  I  knew  the  colonel,  and  then 
I  begins  and  talks  about  the  mountains,  and  where 
I  was  raised  in  Virginia  ;  and  I  never  Jets  on  that 


96  GfcORGE    BALCOMBE. 

I  had  ever  been  in  Missouri  in  my  life.  And  then 
I  tells  a  heap  of  stories  I  had  heard  about  robbing 
people  on  the  road,  and  the  like,  and  I  made  out  as 
if  I  didn't  think  so  mighty  much  harm  of  the  like 
of  that;  and  I  tells  him  of  a  friend  of  mine  that 
was  sent  to  the  penitentiary  for  robbing  a  stranger, 
how  'twas  a  pity  of  him,  because  he  was  such  a 
clever  fellow.  And  he  didn't  say  much,  but  sorter 
let  on  that  it  was  a  ticklish  business,  but  a  smart 
fellow  might  do  pretty  well  at  it  anywhere  close 
to  the  state  line,  where  he  could  dodge  the  law.  I 
cannot  tell  you  rightly  all  he  said,  but  something 
like  as  if  a  man  might  do  a  worse  business  some- 
times than  just  to  keep  still  and  say  nothing. 

"  *  How's  that  ?'  says  I. 

"  *  Why,"  says  he,  *  suppose  any  of  my  friends 
was  to  meet  us  now,  and  want  to  rob  the  mail  or 
the  passengers,  and  you  there  with  your  rifle.  Do 
you  think  they  could  not  afford  to  give  you  some- 
thing handsome  to  keep  quiet  ?' 

«« « That  would  depend  upon  what  they  got,'  says 
L  c  'Cause  I  thinks  I  ought  to  share  and  share 
alike  with  them.' 

" '  No,'  says  he, '  that  would  not  be  fair ;  'cause 
you  wouldn't  run  no  risk/ 

"  '  Maybe  so,'  says  I ;  *  but  I  reckon  any  of  them 
would  be  glad  to  give  me  his  share  and  mine  too, 
before  he'd  let  me  take  a  crack  at  him.' 

"  You  see  I  didn't  want  to  seem  too  anxious, 
'cause  I  thought  he  would  not  be  so  apt  to  sus- 
picion me,  if  I  held  out  for  a  good  bargain.  But 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  97 

he  didn't  say  no  more ;  and  when  we  gets  here  I 
sees  him  and  the  other  driver  that  is  to  go  on  from 
here  in  the  morning,  get  together,  and  they  had  a 
heap  of  whispering,  and  I  thought  I  heard  your 
name  and  Montague's,  and  I  sees  *em  look  right 
hard  at  me,  and  says  t'other  one, 

"'No,  damn  it,  let  him  alone;  I  can  manage 
him.' 

"So  I  just  sets  my  rifle  down  in  the  stall,  and  I 
goes  away  and  stays  a  while,  and  when  I  comes 
back  I  takes  it  up  and  comes  to  the  house.  And  I 
looks  at  the  rifle,  and  the  priming  was  wet,  and  I 
puts  down  the  wiping  stick,  and  when  I  draws  it 
out  that  was  wet  too.  So  I  put  that  and  that  to- 
gether, sir,  and  then  I  thought  I'd  tell  you  all  about 
it." 

"  Well,  JohB,"  said  Balcombe,  "  a  little  rest 
won't  hurt  us ;  so  I'll  just  stop  here  to-morrow, 
and  find  out  how  the  land  lies.  But  how  are  we 
to  manage  this  ?  If  we  all  stop,  they'll  find  out 
that  we  are  all  travelling  together,  and  then  they'll 
be  cautious  before  you."" 

"  Oh,"  said  John,  "  you  can  just  stop  because  the 
madam  is  tired ;  and  as  to  me,  I  can  be  the  sickest 
man  in  half  an  hour  that  ever  you  seed." 

"That  will  do,  John,"  said  Balcombe.  "Steal 
away,  then,  and  let  us  to  bed." 

To  bed  we  went,  and  presently  we  heard  a  great 
bustle  of  people  running  to  and  fro,  ministering,  as 
I  found,  to  poor  John,  whose  illness  had  taken  a 
most  alarming  aspect.  In  the  midst  of  the  uproar 

VOL.  n. — i 


98  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

I  went  to  sleep,  and  was  roused  by  the  driver  with 
his  lantern.  He  knocked  at  the  door  of  Balcombe, 
who  asked  the  hour. 

"  Two  o'clock,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Is  not  that  earlier  than  common  ?"  asked  he. 

"  It's  none  too  soon,"  said  the  fellow,  in  a  sulky 
tone ;  "  the  drivers  at  the  next  stage  say  I  am 
always  too  late." 

"  I  cannot  help  that,"  said  Balcombe  ;  "  I  will 
not  go  until  three.  So  take  yourself  off,  and  don't 
disturb  my  family." 

"  I  shall  have  to  leave  you,"  said  the  driver,  in 
a  tone  of  expostulation. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Balcombe,  "that  your  em- 
ployer will  explain  why  I  am  left." 

The  man  was  silent  for  a  minute,  and  then  said, 

"  I'll  wait  half  an  hour  for  you,  sir." 

No  answer. 

"  I'll  wait  three  quarters  of  an  hour." 

No  answer. 

"  I'll  wait  an  hour." 

"  Harkee,  friend,"  said  Balcombe ;  "  I  mean  to 
ask  your  employer  by  what  right  I  have  been  dis- 
turbed at  this  hour  of  the  night.  Do  you  want  me 
to  get  up  and  discuss  the  matter  with  you  ?  De- 
pend on  it,  if  I  do,  I  shall  use  rougher  arguments 
than  you  like." 

This  was  spoken  in  a  dry  tone  that  was  not  to 
be  mistaken,  and  the  driver  moved  off. 


i — ,u  ..i  >/ 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


99 


CHAPTER   IX. 

The  lion  preys  not  on  carcasses. 

A  QUIET  night  and  a  day  of  rest  ensued,  which 
would  have  been  delightful  but  for  my  impatience 
to  reach  home.  Yet  that  feeling  had  begun  to 
give  way  to  one  of  an  opposite,  but  more  painful 
character.  The  critical  posture  in  which  I  had 
left  affairs  there,  made  me  dread  my  return  almost 
as  much  as  I  desired  it.  I  felt  myself  borne  on 
and  on  to  my  fate,  by  an  impulse  irresistible  as 
fate  itself,  and  the  very  sense  of  which  weighed 
on  my  spirits  as  ominous  of  a  fearful  doom.  Such 
a  feeling,  in  its  deep  strong  current,  sweeps  us 
along  like  the  suck  of  a  cataract.  We  listen  in 
vain  for  the  roar  of  the  water,  but  though  we  un- 
derstand not  the  impulse,  a  dread  presentiment  of 
evil  accompanies  it.  We  would  turn  and  fly,  we 
know  not  whither  or  from  what,  but  are  powerless. 
We  sink  down  and  close  our  eyes,  and  yield  to  the 
current  that  may  bear  us  to  bliss  or  to  destruction. 
I  was  now  near  enough  my  journey's  end  to  expe- 
rience all  the  wretchedness  of  this  condition.  I 
was  impatient  of  rest,  incapable  of  repose.  But 
whether  to  move  onward  or  backward  was  most 


100 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


dreaded  or  most  desired  I  did  not  know.  Had  I 
yielded  to  every  impulse,  I  might  have  traversed 
and  retraversed  the  same  ground  a  hundred 
times. 

In  the  morning,  John  made  the  most  of  a  sick 
man's  privilege,  and  lay  in  bed  perhaps  later  than 
he  had  ever  done  in  his  life.  At  last  he  made  his 
appearance,  trying  to  assume  an  air  of  languor, 
which  the  shrewd  twinkle  of  his  keen  black  eye 
strongly  belied,  and  contrived  to  limit  himself  to  a 
moderate  breakfast,  by  which,  however,  he  pro- 
fessed to  be  mightily  refreshed.  Soon  after,  a  rude- 
looking  fellow  stepped  in,  and  sitting  down  to  the 
table,  began  to  eat  of  what  was  left  on  it.  At  the 
moment  the  landlord  (who  was  also  the  contractor's 
agent)  entered,  and  expressed  surprise  at  seeing 
him  there.  I  soon  discovered  that  he  was  the 
driver  who  had  driven  us  the  night  before,  and 
should  have  returned  that  morning.  I  had  ob- 
served him  cast  an  inquisitive  look  at  John,  who 
received  it  with  an  answering  glance  of  intelli- 
gence j  but  neither  spoke,  and  John  left  the  room, 
after  looking  at  Balcombe,  and  cutting  his  eye  at 
the  other  with  an  expression  not  to  be  misunder- 
stood. 

"  Tom,"  said  the  landlord,  "  how  is  this  ?  Why 
are  you  not  with  your  horses  ?" 

"  I  had  business  the  other  end  of  the  road,"  said 
Tom  ;  "  and  I  got  Bill  to  drive  for  me." 

"  You're  a  pretty  fellow,"  said  the  landlord,  "  to 
get  such  a  chap  as  that  to  manage  your  team.  Do 


GEORGE   BALCOMBE.  101 

you  think  we  would  give  you-  'fifteen  dollar?,  a 
month,  if  a  fellow  we  could  get  for  eight  would  do 
as  well  1  You  are  getting. 'above:  your  .business, 
sir,  and  such  another  trick  will  throw  you  out  of 
our  service." 

"  For  the  matter  of  that,"  said  the  fellow, "  I  don't 
care  how  soon  you  discharge  me." 

"  Don't  you  1"  replied  the  landlord ;  "  then,  sir, 
you  will  drive  one  more  trip,  and  by  to-morrow  I 
can  get  another  in  your  place." 

"  Not  another  whip  do  I  crack  in  your  service," 
said  Tom.  "  You  talk  about  discharging  me  to- 
morrow, and  I'll  discharge  myself  to-day ;  and 
you  must  do  the  best  you  can." 

"  Well,"  said  the  landlord,  "  I  suppose  Bill  will 
do  to  drive  to-morrow  as  well  as  to-day." 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  the  ruffian,  "  he'll  do  well  enough, 
only  just  when  you  want  to  find  fault  with  me." 

"None  of  your  insolence,"  said  the  landlord; 
"  you  are  discharged,  and  your  board  is  out ;  so 
take  yourself  off." 

"  I  guess  this  is  a  tavern,"  said  the  fellow,  "  and 
I'll  stay  here  just  as  long  as  I  please,  and  call  for 
what  I  want.  You've  got  money  enough  of  mine 
to  pay  for  it." 

There  was  no  gainsaying  this,  and  the  fellow 
kept  his  seat  in  all  the  triumph  of  brutal  insolence. 
To  make  it  more  complete,  he  adjourned  from  the 
breakfast  table  to  the  bar,  to  enjoy  the  privilege  of 
drinking  without  responsibility  to  any  one. 

In  the  mean  time,  Balcombe,  turning  over  the 


102  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

leaves-. of  the,  register,  asked  of  the  landlord  care- 
less questions  concerning  persons  whose  names  he 
_gaw*  £rnd,:with.  whom;he  was  acquainted.  At  last 
ne'came  to 'that  of  Montague.  The  landlord  re- 
membered him  well.  He  had  been  there  a  month 
before;  arrived  Saturday  night,  and  lay  by  for 
the  Sabbath,  being  unwilling  to  travel  on  that  day. 
He  was  a  mighty  quiet,  good  sort  of  a  man  ;  had 
spent  the  day  in  reading,  and  had  very  little  to 
say,  except  when  he  heard  the  drivers  swearing ; 
and  then  he  talked  to  them  so  reasonably,  and  with 
so  much  benevolence,  that  they  seemed  to  take  to 
him,  and  he  to  them. 

"  I  don't  think  this  fellow  profited  much  by  his 
lecture,"  said  Balcombe. 

"  No,"  said  the  landlord  ;  "  but  he  was  the  very 
one  that  he  had  most  to  say  to,  for  the  fellow 
played  me  the  same  trick  then,  and  staid  here  all 
day ;  and  ever  since  he  will  check  himself  in  his 
oaths  at  times,  and  speak  of  Mr.  Montague's  good 
advice." 

Balcombe  now  proposed  to  me  and  James,  that 
we  should  amuse  ourselves  with  shooting  our  pis- 
tols at  a  mark.  So  said  so  done.  A  target  was 
set  up.  James  fired  with  such  precision  as  be- 
longs to  a  good  eye  and  a  steady  though  unprac- 
tised hand ;  and  I,  in  the  martinet  style  of  one 
who  has  learned  to  fire  at  the  word,  as  part  of  the 
education  of  a  man  of  honour.  Both  were  pretty 
good  shots.  As  to  Balcombe,  his  ball  obeyed  his 
will.  He  did  but  look  at  the  mark ;  and  raising 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


his  arm  as  carelessly  as  Locksley  himself,  the  bullet 
was  lodged  in  the  mark. 

Meantime  John  and  the  driver  had  come  to  the 
place,  the  former  leaning  on  his  rifle,  the  latter 
flourishing  his  long  whip,  and  blurting  out  an  oc- 
casional oath,  as  if  to  show  that  he  felt  his  inde- 
pendence and  his  grog.  His  attention  was  soon 
attracted  to  what  was  going  on,  which  seemed  to 
have  a  sobering  effect  upon  him.  I  observed  a 
growing  uneasiness  in  his  manner,  and  he  began 
to  draw  up  to  John,  who  took  little  notice  of  him, 
but  seemed  lost  in  admiration  at  the  skill  of  Bal- 
combe.  Addressing  him  at  length  he  said, 

"  I  say,  stranger,  it  an't  no  match  at  all  between 
you  and  these  gentlemen  ;  suppose  you  let  me  try 
you  a  shot." 

"Agreed,"  said  Balcombe  ;  "will  you  take  a 
pistol  or  your  rifle  ?" 

"  I  don't  much  care  which,"  said  John  ;  "  but  I 
should  like  to  try  my  rifle  against  your  pistol, 
sixty  yards  to  twenty,  for  a  drink  of  grog." 

The  match  was  soon  made.  Balcombe  fired 
with  his  usual  success.  John  snapped  ;  and  ex- 
amining his  pan,  found  the  powder  wet.  He  now 
put  down  the  wiping  stick,  and,  withdrawing  that, 
pronounced  it  to  be  wet  too.  The  driver  was  near 
him  at  the  moment,  and  some  words  passed  be- 
tween them  which  I  could  not  hear.  I  only  saw 
that  John's  countenance  was  accusing,  and  the 
other's  deprecatory.  The  rifle  was  soon  put  in 
order,  and  then  the  match  began.  The  trial  of 


104  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

skill  was  wonderful.  Which  beat  I  don't  remem- 
ber, except  that  once  when  Balcombe's  pistol  made 
long  fire,  he  left  room  for  John's  ball  between  his 
and  the  mark,  so  that  John  was  proclaimed  victor. 
We  now  returned  to  the  house  and  dined,  when 
Balcombe,  going  to  his  room,  ordered  up  the  for- 
feited liquor,  and  sent  for  John  to  join  us  in  drink- 
ing it.  As  soon  as  we  were  seated, 

"  Well,  John,"  said  Balcombe,  "  how  did  the 
physic  work  ?" 

"Oh,  prime,  sir!"  said  John.  "That  fellow 
don't  think  there's  your  match  upon  earth,  except 
it  be  me." 

"  Well,  what  does  he  say  to  it?" 

"  Oh,  I've  been  honeying  him  up  all  the  morning, 
and  talking  about  what  business  he'll  go  at  next, 
and  I  sorter  put  him  in  mind  of  what  he  was  talk- 
ing about  last  night ;  and  he  seemed  sorter  so,  and 
sorter  not  so ;  like  he  wanted  to  talk  and  was 
afraid.  So  when  he  seed  you  a  shooting,  maybe 
it  didn't  make  him  open  his  eyes ;  and  every  now 
and  then  I  could  see  him  scringe,  like  he  thought 
the  bullet  was  in  him.  And  when  I  told  him  I 
could  shoot  as  well  as  you,  he  pretended  to  make 
light  of  it,  but  then  he  followed  me  and  looked 
mighty  anxiouslike.  The  creature  had  forgot  about 
wetting  the  powder,  and  when  the  rifle  snapped  he 
looked  right  innocent  till  I  found  out  what  was  the 
matter.  And  with  that  I  looks  right  hard  at  him, 
and  says  I, 

"  c  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  stranger ;  you  don't 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  105 

start  me  from  here  to-morrow  morning  with  a  wet 
load  in  my  gun.'  Lord !  if  he  didn't  look  guilty  I 
don't  know.  *  And  I  reckon,'  says  I,  '  you  think  I 
don't  know  what  you  were  after  down  the  road 
before  day  this  morning.' 

"  '  Hush !  hush  !'  says  he, c  don't  say  a  word  and 
I'll  tell  you  all  about  it.' 

"  So  with  that  I  cracks  away,  and  he  thought  1 
beat  you,  'cause  you  did  not  say  your  pistol  blowed, 
and  just  gave  it  up  so.  So  then  we  goes  to  the 
stable  together,  and  says  I, 

" '  What  is  that  you  are  going  to  tell  me  ?' 

"  And  he  sorter  hummed  and  hawed  about  it, 
and  says  I, 

"  '  Stranger,  you  see  it's  just  so  :  if  you've  any- 
thing to  tell  me,  tell  it ;  if  not,  its  all  one  to  me. 
I  can  take  care  of  myself  I  reckon.' 

"  Then  he  looks  right  dubious,  and  says  he, 

" '  Did  you  hear  me  and  Joe  talking  last  night  ?' 

"  Says  I, 

"  *  If  /  didn't,  I  reckon  my  gun  did  when  I  set 
it  there  in  the  stall.  And  I  reckon,'  says  I, '  it  will 
take  a  smarter  fellow  than  Joe  to  manage  me,  and 
I  with  both  eyes  wide  open.' 

"  And  with  that  says  he, 

" '  I  wish  Joe  was  here,  'cause  I  haven't  got  no 
right  to  speak  too  plain  without  his  leave,  espe- 
cially after  he  told  me  not ;  but,'  says  he,  '  you 
come  down  to  the  stable  after  supper  and  we'll 
see  about  it.' 

"  So  I  agreed,  and  then  I  come  away." 


106  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

"  Well,  John,"  said  Balcombe,  "  now  go  to  sleep 
if  you  can,  and  sleep  till  supper,  and  I'll  do  so  too, 
because  we  must  not  sleep  any  more  afterward. 
When  everybody  else  is  asleep,  come  to  my  room, 
and  then  you  can  tell  me  all  about  it.  As  to  you, 
boys,  new  flints  and  dry  powder,  and  wait  for  the 
word  of  command.  I  don't  want  to  weary  you, 
and  you  can  trust  me." 

I  heard  no  more  of  the  matter  until  next  morn- 
ing. There  happened  to  be  no  one  in  the  stage 
but  our  party  and  one  other,  whom  I  could  not 
distinguish  in  the  dark.  He  had  already  taken  his 
place  on  the  back  seat,  when  Balcombe  handed  in 
his  wife. 

"  As  we  are  going  down  the  mountain,"  said  she, 
"  I  will  sit  in  front." 

She  did  so  ;  and  Balcombe  placing  himself  by 
her  side,  I  took  the  opposite  corner  on  the  same 
seat.  The  stranger  fronted  me,  and  James  was 
vis  a  vis  to  Mrs.  Balcombe.  John,  as  usual,  rode 
with  the  driver.  We  went  off  at  a  rapid  rate,  but 
presently  slackened  our  speed  at  a  moderate  rise. 
Balcombe  now  said, 

"Are  your  arms  in  order,  James?  and  your's, 
William  ?  Is  your  powder  dry  ?" 

We  both  replied  that  we  had  examined  all  a  few 
minutes  before,  and  all  was  right. 

"  Then,"  continued  Balcombe,  "  take  each  of 
you  a  pistol  in  one  hand  and  a  dirk  in  the  other. 
Now  if  the  carriage  stops  before  we  reach  the  end 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  107 

of  our  stage,  do  both  of  you  both  shoot  and  stab 
the  fellow  that  sits  in  that  corner." 

Then  dropping  the  little  window  at  the  driver's 
back,  which  was  just  behind  his  own  head,  he 
said, 

"  You  can  drive,  John,  and  must  be  in  readiness 
to  catch  the  reins  if  the  driver  falls  from  his  seat. 
And  you,  driver,  take  notice:  I  have  a  pistol 
pointed  at  your  back  that  never  misses  fire.  If 
any  ruffians  attack  the  stage,  as  was  done  yester- 
day morning,  and  you  suffer  the  horses  to  stop  a 
moment,  I  will  shoot  you  through  the  body ;  and 
do  you,  John,  shoot  down  any  man  that  attempts 
to  stop  the  horses,  and  drive  on.  And  now,  boys, 
all  of  you  remember  the  watchword,  *  Deliberate 
promptitude.' " 

This  formidable  arrangement,  which  gave  me 
for  the  first  time  a  precise  view  of  our  situation, 
was  heard  in  silence  by  the  driver  and  his  con- 
federate. 

"  Move  on  quietly,"  said  Balcombe ;  "  keep  your 
horses  hard  in  hand  until  we  come  to  the  point  of 
attack,  for  your  life  depends  on  their  having  mettle 
enough  to  break  away  from  anybody  who  may 
try  to  stop  them." 

He  was  obeyed  to  the  letter  ;  and  we  descended 
the  mountain  at  a  moderate  trot.  At  one  of  those 
short  sharp  rises,  which  everywhere  break  the 
slope  of  the  Alleghany,  we  fell  into  a  walk,  and 
had  not  ascended  a  hundred  yards  before  we  heard 
the  driver  say, 


108  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

"  Get  away,  you  damned  fools ;  will  you  never 
quit  trying  to  scare  people  ?" 

At  the  same  moment  the  lash  rung  loud  and 
sharp,  and  the  horses,  after  a  momentary  check, 
dashed  away  up  the  hill  at  a  gallop.  We  now 
moved  on  with  speed  to  the  next  stage,  where 
Balcombe,  with  a  sharp  reprimand,  dismissed  the 
ruffians. 

"  I  will  not  take  the  trouble,"  said  he,  '*  to  prose- 
cute you  for  conspiring  against  my  life.  I  don't 
belong  to  your  state,  nor  care  not  for  offences 
against  her  laws,  and  I  have  no  malice  against  you. 
But  tell  me,  before  we  part,  what  was  that  scoun- 
drel to  have  given  you  ?" 

The  men  looked  at  each  other,  and  at  last  Tom 
answered, 

"  I  suppose  it  an't  no  use  to  try  and  keep  it  a 
secret  now.  It  was  a  thousand  dollars  a  piece." 

"  And  did  he  agree  to  take  your  word  ?" 

"  No,  sir ;  we  were  to  carry  the  waybill,  with 
your  name  upon  it.  He  said  the  newspapers  would 
tell  him  all  the  rest  of  the  story." 

"Whereto?" 

"  To  Essex  county,  sir." 

"Enough,"  said  Balcombe.  "I  never  thought 
that  wretch  could  make  himself  so  formidable  as 
to  be  an  object  of  anything  but  contempt.  But  his 
craft  and  indefatigable  malignity  begin  to  entitle 
him  to  my  resentment.  I  hope  it  may  have  time 
to  cool  before  I  meet  him.  I  should  hardly  allow 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  109 

the  canting  hypocrite  time  to  say  his  prayers  just 
now." 

As  we  pursued  our  journey,  Balcombe  told  me 
that  Joe,  at  Tom's  instance,  had  consented  to  take 
John  into  the  plot.  Tom  was  to  take  his  place  by 
Balcombe's  side,  and  at  a  proper  moment  stab  him 
in  the  bustle,  and  escape.  John  was  to  wet  our 
powder  ;  and  Balcombe  being  out  of  the  way,  the 
rest  were  to  be  robbed,  and  taken  on  to  the  end  of 
the  stage. 

"  But  what,"  said  I,  "  did  you  mean  by  what 
you  said  about  the  stopping  of  the  stage  yesterday 
morning  ?" 

"  I  forgot,"  said  Balcombe,  "  that  you  did  not 
know  that.  The  eastern  stage  came  in  after  you 
went  to  bed,  and  I  learned  that  the  passengers  had 
heard  from  those  who  went  down  yesterday,  that 
they  had  been  stopped,  as  I  suppose,  at  the  place 
where  we  were  beset." 

This  was  the  last  adventure  of  our  journey 
worth  recording.  Passing  by  all  minor  occur- 
rences, I  hasten  to  the  scene  of  those  events  on 
which  the  happiness  of  my  future  life  depended. 


VOL.  IT. — K 

* 


110  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


CHAPTER   X. 

"  The  sinking  of  the  heart, 
The  failing  sight,  in  which  the  light  of  heaven 
Turns  all  to  blackness,  whose  disastrous  gloom 
O'ershadows  nature's  face  !     Oh !  this  it  is  to  love ; 
To  hope  ;  the  sickening  hope  that  lives  in  fear ; 
The  fear  that  paints  a  rival  throned  in  bliss, 
And  tells  of  charms  profaned,  and  plighted  faith 
Irrevocable." 

WE  reached  Baltimore  and  Washington  in  safety 
without  any  other  adventure.  At  Alexandria  Bal- 
combe  hired  a  carriage,  in  which  he  conveyed  his 
wife  to  the  house  of  her  friends  in  Fauquier.  I 
passed  on  to  Fredericksburg,  and  thence  to  my 
mother's  residence  in  King  and  Queen,  where 
Balcombe  promised  to  join  me  the  day  after  my 
arrival. 

I  shall  not  endeavour  to  paint  my  feelings  during 
this  solitary  journey.  Solitary  it  was  ;  for  though 
in  the  public  stage,  my  mind,  missing  the  excite- 
ment of  Balcombe's  conversation,  sunk  into  a  sort 
of  collapse,  which  made  me  alike  incapable  of  con- 
versing with  strangers,  and  sustaining  my  own 
spirits  under  the  crushing  weight  of  my  forebo- 
dings. I  had  now  been  absent  from  home  more 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  HI 

than  three  months.  Not  knowing  where  to  direct, 
my  friends  had  never  written  to  me,  and  I  knew 
nothing  of  what  had  passed  in  the  mean  time.  But 
I  had  ground  for  fearful  apprehensions.  Ann  had 
forbidden  me  to  think  of  her  except  as  a  sister. 
Howard,  after  a  long  course  of  well  directed  and 
not  unacceptable  attention,  had  given  notice  that 
he  was  about  to  return  for  the  purpose  of  pressing 
his  suit,  which  had  been  neither  accepted  nor  re- 
jected ;  and  with  all  the  advantages  of  birth  and 
fortune,  a  handsome  person,  fine  manners,  and  a 
high  character  for  talent  and  honour,  had  been 
doubtless  urging  it  during  my  absence.  My  heart 
sickened  at  these  thoughts  ;  and  as  I  approached 
the  place  where  I  was  to  learn  definitely  whether 
my  fears  were  well  founded,  I  was  half  tempted 
to  turn  my  back  on  my  friends,  to  find  my  way 
again  to  the  wilderness  from  which  I  had  just 
emerged,  and  lose  in  a  life  of  adventure  a  sense 
of  the  insufferable  wretchedness  that  oppressed 
me. 

Between  twenty  and  thirty  miles  south  of  Fred- 
ericksburg,  I  left  the  stage,  and  hiring  a  horse, 
turned  down  eastwardly  into  King  and  Queen. 
Here,  in  the  house  which  had  once  been  my  father's, 
lived  my  poor  mother,  in  virtue  of  an  arrangement 
with  the  creditors,  which  authorized  her  to  retain 
possession  until  the  end  of  the  year.  Here  were 
my  -sisters,  and  here,  unless  she  had  already  be- 
come the  mistress  of  Howard's  affluent  fortune, 
was  my  meek  and  gentle  Ann.  In  the  neighbour- 


112  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

hood  was  Oakwood,  one  only  of  the  princely  habi- 
tations of  which  Howard  was  master ;  and  here 
my  phrensied  imagination  saw  Ann  presiding  over 
the  hospitalities  of  a  season  of  nuptial  festivities. 
If  a  solitary  seaman,  shipwrecked  on  a  desolate 
and  barren  coast,  could  envy  the  feelings  with 
which  I  now  approached  the  scenes  of  my  youth, 
there  must  be  a  misery  in  exile  which  I  have  never 
conceived. 

I  was  now  but  a  few  miles  from  home,  when  I 
met  a  negro  whom  I  had  known  from  my  boyhood 
as  the  body  servant  of  one  of  the  neighbours.  He 
stopped  his  horse  as  soon  as  he  came  up  to  me, 
and  looking  me  in  the  face  exclaimed, 

"  Why,  Lord  bless  my  soul !  Mass  William,  is 
that  you  ?  I  mighty  glad  to  see  you,  sir ;  and  they 
been  looking  and  waiting  for  you  at  home  ever  so 
long." 

"  How  are  they  all,  Jack  ?"  said  I,  in  a  tone  that 
sounded  fearfully  in  my  own  ears.  It  was  the 
voice  of  anticipated  desolation  and  wretchedness, 
which  seemed  ominous  of  the  fulfilment  of  my 
fears. 

"  All  mighty  well,  sir,"  said  Jack,  "  and  been 
looking  for  you  every  day.  Master  sent  me  there 
yesterday,  sir,  and  I  seed  'em  all;  Mrs.  Napier, 
and  the  young  ladies,  and  Mr.  Howard  and  all." 

When  I  recollect  the  feeling  that  came  over  me 
as  I  heard  these  last  words,  I  only  wonder  that  I 
did  not  fall  to  the  earth  and  die.  They  who  have 
experienced  the  same  will  understand  me.  They 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  113 

who  have  not,  never  will,  until  they  feel  their  own 
hearts  withering  under  such  an  intimation  as  the 
name  of  Howard,  thus  used,  conveyed  to  my  mind. 
I  could  not  repeat  it. 

'«  Mr.  Howard  !"  said  I,  faintly. 

"Yes,  sir;  jMr.  Howard.  Don't  you  know," 
said  Jack,  with  a  knowing  grin,  "  Miss  Margaret 
Howard's  brother,  sir.  The  gentleman  they  say 
is  going  to  marry  Miss  Ann.  He  there,  sir,  and 
Miss  Margaret  too ;  but  lady's  me !  Mass  Wil- 
liam, travelling  don't  agree  with  you.  You  look 
mighty  badly,  sir.  You  been  sick,  sir?" 

"  No,  Jack,  no/'  said  I,  recovering  myself,  re- 
lieved as  I  was  by  words  which,  had  they  been 
spoken  first  instead  of  last,  would  have  hardly  been 
less  appalling  than  those  which  had  blanched  my 
cheek.  "  The  gentleman  they  say  is  going  to  marry 
Miss  Ann"  Had  any  man  uttered  these  words 
five  minutes  before,  I  should  have  felt  inclined  to 
kill  him.  As  it  was,  I  was  ready  to  hug  the  good- 
hearted  greasy  blackamoor  to  my  heart. 

I  passed  on,  elate  with  hope.  Such  hope  as  could 
be  found  in  the  realization  of  the  worst  fears  I 
had  ever  permitted  to  enter  into  my  mind,  until 
the  moment  before  I  met  the  negro.  Yet  it  was 
hope,  at  least  for  a  few  moments ;  but  presently 
subsided  again,  not  into  despair,  but  despondency. 

At  length  I  reached  the  end  of  my  journey.     I 

approached  the  house  unnoticed.     I  saw  no  one. 

I  secured  my  horse,  and  slowly  and  sadly  walked 

to  the  open  door.     As  1  entered,  "  all  things  reeled 

K  2 


114  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

around  me."  All  was  still.  I  heard  no  voice ;  I 
heard  no  step.  The  nearest  door  was  that  of  the 
drawingroom.  I  entered.  On  a  sofa  sat  Ann, 
and  by  her  side  was  Howard.  He  held  her  hand, 
and  bent  over  her  with  an  air  of  earnest  tender- 
ness. Her  head  hung  down,  and  her  eyes  seemed 
fixed  in  the  same  direction.  She  d'id  not  look  up  ; 
perhaps  she  did  not  hear  me.  He  did.  He  raised 
his  head  with  an  exclamation  of  pleased  surprise ; 
he  uttered  my  name,  and  with  extended  hand  he 
advanced  towards  me.  I  gave  him  mine,  and  in 
doing  so  took  my  eyes  from  Ann.  Before  I  could 
turn  them  again  she  was  in  my  arms.  A  wild 
scream  of  delight  was  all  I  heard.  All  I  felt  was 
that  I  once  more  held  her  to  my  bosom,  and  that 
her  very  heart  was  poured  into  it  in  a  torrent  of 
tears.  I  was  conscious  of  nothing  else  till  she  dis- 
engaged herself,  and,  recovering  her  recollection, 
drew  back,  and  with  a  timid  glance  at  Howard, 
sank  into  a  chair,  while  alternate  blushes  and  pale- 
ness chased  each  other  over  her  quivering  fea- 
tures. At  this  moment  Jane  entered.  I  could  not 
help  perceiving  that  her  joy  at  seeing  me  did  not 
so  entirely  occupy  her  mind  as  to  prevent  a  glance 
which  seemed  to  cast  rebuke  upon  Ann.  Indeed 
her  manner  to  me  was  constrained  ;  but  I  pres- 
ently forgot  it  in  the  long  embrace  of  maternal 
tenderness,  and  in  the  artless  endearments  of  my 
younger  sister  Laura.  I  now  looked  around  for 
Howard ;  but  with  the  delicacy  of  a  perfect  gen- 
tleman, as  he  was,  he  had  left  the  room.  1  turned 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  115 

my  eyes  again  on  Ann.  She  sat  with  her's  fixed 
on  her  handkerchief,  at  the  edge  of  which  she  was 
pulling.  Her  blushes  had  passed  away,  except 
one  long  line  of  brightness,  extending  like  the  track 
of  a  meteor  across  her  cheek  to  her  ear,  which  still 
glowed  with  the  fervour  of  her  feelings.  I  gazed 
on  her.  She  looked  up.  Her  eye  met  mine,  and 
glanced  timidly  to  Jane.  I  followed  it,  and  met 
the  same  cold  look  of  inexorable  decorum,  which 
had  rebuked  what  she  called  the  glaring  impropri- 
ety of  my  declaration  of  love  to  Ann. 

A  half  hour  passed  speedily  in  the  rapid  inter- 
change of  those  inquiries  which  always  attend  the 
meetings  of  long-absent  friends.  At  the  end  of 
this  time,  Howard  reappeared,  leading  his  sister, 
bonneted  and  cloaked.  He  had  ordered  his  car- 
riage, and  came  in  to  take  leave,  saying  he  would 
see  us  again  when  the  fervour  of  our  mutual  greet- 
ings should  have  subsided.  His  sister  welcomed 
me  with  cordial  dignity,  while  a  slight  blush  man- 
tled her  cheek.  Again  involuntarily  I  looked  to 
Jane.  Her  eye  was  bent  on  Miss  Howard,  with 
an  expression  of  searching  eagerness,  which  sud- 
denly quailed,  and  she  looked  down  embarrassed 
and  vexed.  I  turned,  and  saw  the  cause  in  some 
slight  indignation  which  displayed  itself  in  Miss 
Howard's  countenance  as  she  withdrew  her  glance 
from  my  sister.  A  few  inquiries  followed  after 
my  health  and  adventures,  and  the  young  people, 
took  leave. 

In  this  scene  I  found  ample  food  for  conjecture 


116  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

and  meditation.  It  now  seemed  to  me  that  my 
intercourse  with  Balcombe,  and  the  habitual  excite- 
ment of  whatever  faculty  of  observation  I  pos- 
sessed, during  the  scenes  of  the  last  two  months, 
had  endued  me  with  a  perspicacity  to  which  I  had 
before  been  a  stranger.  No  doubt  such  things  had 
passed  in  my  presence  before  ;  but  I  had  marked 
them  not.  But  I  had  marked  enough  to  remember 
that  on  no  former  occasion  had  any  tenderness  or 
caress  of  mine  tinged  with  the  slightest  flush  the 
marble  whiteness  of  Ann's  cheek.  Never  before 
in  my  presence,  and  while  I  spoke,  had  her  eyes 
sought  the  ground.  No.  They  had  always  dwelt 
in  calm  tranquillity  upon  my  face,  with  an  expres- 
sion differing  from  that  of  my  sisters  only  because 
she  was  much  more  gentle,  more  tender  than  they. 
But  I  had  no  time  to  prosecute  such  trains  of 
thought;  yet  I  was  cheered  and  revived  under 
their  influence.  My  despondency  was  so  far  dis- 
sipated as  to  enable  me  to  converse  freely,  and  I 
lost  no  time  in  giving  my  friends  a  hasty  outline  of 
my  adventures.  When  I  came  to  speak  of  Bal- 
combe, my  mother  recollected  the  name  as  that  of 
one  she  had  heard  of  but  never  seen  ;  of  whom  she 
had  not  thought  for  many  years,  but  of  whom  she 
was  sure  she  had  heard  my  grandfather  speak  in 
the  highest  terms.  While  I  told  of  his  prompt 
and  efficient  kindness,  his  high  endowments,  and 
the  generous  devotion  with  which  he  had  periled 
life  and  honour  in  my  service,  the  gratitude  of  my 
mother  and  Laura  knew  no  bounds.  Jane,  too, 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


117 


expressed  the  same  sentiment  in  the  strongest 
terms ;  but  her  look  was  often  abstracted,  as  that 
of  one  calculating  consequences,  and  estimating 
the  influence  of  every  occurrence  on  some  precon- 
ceived scheme.  Ann  by  degrees  withdrew  her 
eyes  from  the  figures  on  the  carpet,  and  a  tear 
stole  from  them  as  I  told  of  the  tender  interest 
he  had  expressed  in  her  who  had  been  his  pet  and 
plaything.  I  taught  them  to  expect  to  see  him  the 
next  day,  and  proposed  to  fill  up  the  interval  with 
a  more  detailed  narrative  of  the  events  which  I 
now  hastily  sketched. 

I  'was  anxious  to  prepare  Ann  to  meet  him  as  a 
friend  worthy  of  all  her  confidence.  I  trusted  to 
him  to  detect  the  secret  of  her  heart.  I  depended 
on  his  address  to  make  her  acquainted  with  it.  In 
her  present  defenceless  condition,  having  no  male 
friend,  no  protector  but  myself,  nothing  could  ex- 
cuse me  for  again  addressing  her  on  the  subject  of 
my  love,  until  I  should  feel  a  reasonable  assurance 
that  my  addresses  would  not  be  unacceptable.  But 
I  knew  that  he  would  need  no  hint  from  me,  and  I 
felt  assured  that  he  would  manage  his  inquisition 
into  the  state  of  her  heart  so  as  not  to  shock,  to 
alarm,  or  offend.  When  we  separated  for  the 
night,  I  perceived  that  she  again  manifested  some 
feeling  which  I  had  never  observed  before,  as  she 
held  up  her  lip  for  the  brother's  kiss,  with  which 
from  childhood  we  had  always  parted  at  that  hour. 


118  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

In  that  deep  midnight  of  the  mind 

And  that  internal  strife  of  heart, 
When,  dreading  to  be  deemed  too  kind, 

The  weak  despair,  the  cold  depart. 
When  fortune  changed,  and  love  fled  far, 

And  hatred's  shafts  flew  thick  and  fast, 
Thou  wert  the  solitary  star, 

That  rose,  and  set  not  to  the  last. 

BYRON. 

IN  the  morning  I  resumed  my  narrative,  and 
successfully  accomplished  my  purpose  of  impress- 
ing her  mind  with  admiration  for  Balcombe,  and 
confidence  in  his  friendship.  In  the  afternoon 
Balcombe  came,  accompanied  by  Keizer  and 
James.  He  had  dissuaded  the  latter  from  hurry- 
ing directly  home,  because  he  had  been  unwilling 
to  trust  so  raw  a  youth  to  cope  alone  with  Mon- 
tague, and  because  he  wished  to  come  upon  him 
unexpectedly.  The  time  lost  was  of  little  conse- 
quence. If  Mary  held  him  at  bay,  she  would  still 
await  the  appearance  of  her  brother.  If  he  had 
already  carried  his  point,  James's  presence  there 
could  do  no  good.  But  we  had  no  doubt  that  the 
approach  of  Balcombe  (should  Montague  be  ap- 
prized of  it)  would  hurry  him  to  some  or  any  act 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  119 

of  desperation  ;  and,  being  now  so  near  the  scene 
of  action,  we  determined  to  hasten  to  it  without 
further  loss  of  time. 

We  would  gladly  have  remained  a  day  or  two 
where  we  were,  but  Balcombe's  eagerness  in  pur- 
suit of  his  prey  made  him  insensible  to  fatigue. 
For  my  own  part,  all  other  considerations  seemed 
of  little  consequence  in  my  eyes  in  comparison  with 
my  desire  to  be  near  Ann,  and  to  hear  how  How- 
ard's suit  had  sped.  Balcombe,  by  going  alone, 
might  have  accomplished  all  that  I  could.  But 
how  contemptible  must  I  appear  in  the  eyes  of 
Ann,  if,  after  his  past  hazards  in  my  behalf,  I  should 
again  leave  him  alone  to  do  what  was  most  prop- 
erly my  own  work.  It  was  determined,  therefore, 
that  we  should  both  go  the  next  day  to  Raby  Hall, 
accompanied  by  James  and  Keizer. 

Soon  after  this  resolution  was  taken,  a  servant 
came  from  the  postoffice,  and  handed  Balcombe 
a  letter.  After  receiving  it  he  left  us  to  read  it  in 
his  own  room.  Presently  the  servant  came  to 
inform  James  that  Balcombe  wished  to  speak  to 
him.  They  remained  together  some  time,  and 
then  I  saw  Balcombe  walk  into  the  park  with  the 
letter  in  his  hand,  which  he  read  as  he  went.  He 
did  not  return  until  nearly  dark.  At  supper, 
James  did  not  make  his  appearance.  My  mother 
directed  a  servant  to  find  him,  when  Balcombe 
said, 

"  I  beg  he  may  not  be  called.     He  is  in  his 


120  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

-*.,  •  * 

room.  The  poor  boy  has  just  heard  of  the  loss  of 
his  mother.'* 

To  the  rest  of  the  company  these  words  suffi- 
ciently explained  a  something  of  gloom  which  had 
hung  on  Balcombe's  brow  since  he  returned  from 
his  walk,  and  imparted  a  tone  of  tender  sadness  to 
his  voice.  But  to  me  they  gave  a  further  intima- 
tion that  the  letter  was  from  Mary  Scott,  and  I 
turned  on  him  a  look  of  eager  inquiry.  To  this 
he  only  answered  by  a  quiet  smile,  and  then  began 
to  speak  of  James ;  of  his  fine  intellect,  of  his 
scrupulous  honour  and  fidelity,  and  his  gentle  and 
amiable  deportment.  When  he  rose  from  table  he 
approached  Ann,  and  gently  taking  her  hand,  said 
in  the  kindest  tone, 

"You  can  have  no  recollection  of  me,  my 
dear." 

"  None  at  all,"  said  she ;  "  and  I  regret  it,  for, 
from  what  I  have  learned,  none  ever  better  de- 
served to  live  in  the  memory  of  his  friends." 

"  You  can  never  fade  from  mine,  while  it 
pleases  God  to  preserve  to  me  my  own  little 
daughter,  whose  blue  eyes  and  fair  hair  always 
remind  me  of  you.  You  were  very  dear  to  me. 
I  was  then  but  a  boy,  and  the  only  return  I  could 
make  for  the  unmerited  bounty  of  your  grand- 
father, was  in  acts  of  playful  kindness  to  the  chil- 
dren on  whom  he  doted.  I  thus  won  the  hearts 
of  you  and  William ;  and  I  trust  mine  will  never 
be  so  hard,  as  not  to  love  those  who  love  me." 

"William  has  told  me,"  said  Ann,  "that  we 


GEORGE    BALGOMBE.  121 

used  to  call  you  our  George.  I  think  that  sound 
comes  to  my  ear  like  the  voice  of  an  old  friend. 
My  George  !  my  George  !"  she  repeated,  with  the 
look  of  one  trying  to  recall  a  half- remembered 
tune. 

"  Say  that  again,"  said  Balcombe,  gently  passing 
his  arm  around  her  waist  and  drawing  her  to  him. 
"  Say  that  again.  You  cannot  think  how  sweet 
to  me  is  a  sound  that  reminds  me  that  I  once  was 
young  and  lived  in  the  paradise  of  domestic  peace, 
so  ill  exchanged  for  the  thorny  wilderness  of  strife 
where  my  manhood  has  been  spent.  I  am  still 
your  George,  my  dear  child  ;  and  I  hope  you  will 
soon  know  me  well  enough  to  call  me  so  again. 
In  the  mean  time,"  continued  he,  with  a  mild  so- 
lemnity of  manner,  "  accustom  yourself  to  whisper 
those  words  to  your  own  heart,  that  they  may  be 
echoed  back  to  you,  if,  at  any  time,  you  feel  the 
want  of  a  friend." 

As  he  said  this,  he  gently  turned  up  to  his  own 
her  face,  beaming  with  a  tearful  smile,  and  after 
gazing  on  her  tenderly  for  a  moment,  kissed  her 
forehead,  and  placed  her  softly  in  a  chair.  In  the 
whole  action  there  was  something  so  quiet,  so 
bland,  so  soothing,  so  exactly  adapted  alike  to  the 
delicacy  and  warmth  of  Ann's  feelings,  that  I  saw 
that  his  place  in  her  confidence  was  at  once  im- 
moveably  established.  Balcombe,  though  not  a 
handsome  man,  was  not  ugly  ;  though  not  young, 
he  was  yet  in  the  prime  of  manhood  ;  the  unexam- 
pled devotion  of  his  young  wife  showed  his  power 

VOL.  II. L 


122 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


over  the  female  heart ;  and  here  I  had  seen  his 
manner  of  exercising  it.  I  could  not  have  endured 
to  see  Ann's  cheek  resting  on  the  bosom  of  any 
other  man  ;  but  in  his  whole  action  there  was  a 
holy  calmness,  and  a  soft  breathing  of  paternal 
tenderness,  with  which  my  whole  heart  sympa- 
thized. As  he  withdrew  his  lips  from  her  white 
brow,  I  felt  as  if  he  had  left  a  blessing  there.  Had 
I  any  part  in  it  ?  I  was  not  selfish  enough  to  ask 
the  question. 

When  the  ladies  had  retired,  Balcombe  proposed 
to  accompany  me  to  my  room.  On  reaching  it, 
he  produced  and  handed  me  the  letter  he  had  just 
received.  It  proved,  as  I  suspected,  to  be  from 
Mary  Scott,  and  ran  as  follows : — 

"  When  I  wrote  the  letter  which  I  sent  you  by 
James,  I  hardly  hoped  that  time,  which  has  left  me 
nothing  by  which  I  can  recognise  my  former  self, 
had  made  so  little  change  in  you.  That  you  could 
not  be  ungenerous  or  unkind  I  knew.  But  that 
you  would  at  once  address  yourself,  with  all  the 
energy  and  vivacity  of  youth,  to  the  service  of  a 
distant  and  dishonoured,  though  unfortunate  wo- 
man, was  more  than  I  had  a  right  to  expect.  Still 
less  had  I  hoped  that  the  history  of  my  wrongs  and 
wretchedness  would  draw  from  you  a  letter  so  full 
of  kindness  and  sympathy  as  that  I  have  just  re- 
ceived. Thank  God  !  you  at  least  are  unchanged. 
I  rejoice  at  it  more  for  your  own  sake  than  my 
own.  Remaining  what  you  were  when  I  first 


GEORGE    BALCOMEE.  123 

knew  you,  I  know  that  you  have  been,  are,  and 
must  be  happy.  Fate  does  not  do  her  work  by 
halves,  and  thus  leave  a  fountain  of  bliss  pouring 
its  perennial  freshness  through  the  hearts  of  those 
she  has  doomed  as  the  victims  of  her  malice. 

"I  have  hardly  more  cause  to  be  thankful  for 
your  kindness,  than  to  rejoice  that  your  letter  did 
not  reach  me  a  few  days  sooner.  Had  it  done  so, 
I  might  have  been  the  dupe  of  that  artful  villain,  in 
whom  the  guile,  the  malignity,  the  venom,  and 
the  grovelling  baseness  of  the  serpent  are  all 
blended.  For  once  he  overreached  himself.  The 
rapidity  of  his  journey  defeated  his  own  object. 
Not  seeing  James,  nor  hearing  from  you,  I  was 
suspicious  of  him  ;  and  his  eagerness  to  accomplish 
his  end  had,  before  the  arrival  of  your  letter,  con- 
firmed my  suspicions  into  a  determination  not  to 
trust  him.  But  let  me  begin  and  tell  my  story.  I 
shall  address  this  to  the  care  of  Mrs.  Napier  of 
Craiganet,  where  you  informed  me  you  proposed 
to  be  ere  this.  Later  information  satisfies  me  you 
cannot  be  there  for  some  weeks,  and  I  shall  have 
time  enough  to  detail  to  you  all  the  machinations 
of  the  wretch.  Could  you  conceive  the  comfort 
which  it  affords  to  a  being  desolate  as  I  am,  that 
there  is  one  worthy  of  all  esteem  and  confidence, 
who  takes  an  interest  in  her,  and  will  listen  with- 
out disgust  to  whatever  tones  the  agony  of  re- 
morse, the  bitterness  of  grief,  the  gloom  of  despair, 
or  the  hope  that  dawns  from  beyond  the  tomb  may 
draw  from  her  heart,  you  would  not  wonder  that 


124 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


I  am  disposed  to  fill  the  interval  between  this  and 
your  expected  return  with  a  history  of  the  events 
that  have  befallen  me  since  James  left  home.  I  go 
to  It  as  to  a  '  pleasant  task,'  which,  like  the  poet's 
dream,  beguiled  his  dungeon's  solitude,  scarce  less 
lonely,  less  weary,  less  desolate  than  mine.  The 
light  which  Heaven  sheds  upon  the  mind,  is  mine 
as  it  was  his.  All  other  is  shut  out.  The  sun  may 
shine.  /  see  him  not. 

"  A  few  days  after  poor  James  left  me,  a  para- 
lytic stroke  brought  my  mother  to  the  grave.  I 
need  not  describe  my  situation,  thus  left  alone  on 
earth.  The  solitude  of  my  cottage,  before  dreary, 
was  now  frightful.  It  was  a  relief  to  me  that  the 
only  other  being  in  Virginia  who  cared  for  my 
existence,  required  my  presence  and  aid.  My  old 
nurse  was  taken  ill.  You  remember  she  was  the 
housekeeper  at  Raby  Hall.  I  hastened  to  see  her} 
and  found  her  so  ill  that  I  passed  the  night  by  her 
side.  In  the  morning  I  threw  myself  on  a  pallet, 
and  slept  a  few  hours.  I  was  awakened  by  a 
strange  voice,  and  saw  a  venerable  and  benev- 
olent-looking old  gentleman  standing  by  the 
bed.  I  immediately  conjectured  that  it  was  the 
steward,  whom  I  had  never  seen.  It  seems 
that  Mr.  Raby  had  been  imposed  on  by  his  over- 
seers and  agents,  and  lately  determined  to  engage 
the  service  of  some  reputable  man  in  moderate  cir- 
cumstances to  live  on  one  of  his  estates,  and  exer- 
cise a  supervisory  control  over  all  of  them.  The 
gentleman  selected  was  one  whose  fortunes  were 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  125 

decayed,  and  whose  family  had  all  left  him.  He 
and  his  wife,  both  old,  had  been  reduced  to  pov- 
erty. But  I  need  not  tell  you  more  than  this.  He 
is  Major  Swann,  whose  character  you  know ;  for 
I  learn  that  in  his  better  days  he  was  a  neighbour 
and  friend  of  Mr.  Charles  Raby,  and  knew  you 
when  a  youth.  I  rose  on  seeing  him,  and  his  at- 
tention being  drawn  to  me,  Mammy  Amy  told 
him  who  I  was.  He  said  something  very  kind, 
and  took  occasion  to  speak  feelingly  of  that  strong 
tie  which  binds  the  nursling  to  its  foster-mother, 
and  which  goes  so  far  to  mitigate  the  evils  of  sla-^ 
very  in  Virginia.  Leaving  the  room,  he  sent  the 
old  woman  her  breakfast,  and  I  found  that  some- 
thing was  added  for  me,  prepared  with  a  delicate 
care  that  was  more  grateful  to  my  heart  than  the 
food  to  my  palate.  Not  long  after  his  wife  ap- 
peared. She,  too,  was  very  kind,  and  sat  and  con- 
versed with  me  a  long  time.  While  she  was  there 
servants  came  in,  bringing  a  small  cot  bed,  which 
was  set  up  silently  in  one  corner  of  the  room.  The 
old  lady  now  left  it,  saying,  that  if  I  should  have 
occasion  to  stay  all  night  I  would  be  more  com* 
fortably  lodged.  I  felt  that  there  was  great  sin- 
cerity and  delicacy  in  this  kindness,  and  made  no 
scruple  to  remain.  I  staid  by  my  good  old  nurse 
night  and  day,  and  she  got  better.  I  began  to  feel 
some  yearning  for  my  solitary  home,  but  my  heart 
shrunk  from  its  desolate  loneliness,  and  I  would 
gladly  have  staid  where  I  was.  Yet  I  had  no 
longer  any  excuse  to  remain,  and  was  about  to  go 

L2 


126  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

away,  when  the  old  gentleman  told  me  that  he 
understood  my  situation,  and  begged  me  to  con- 
sider whether  I  could  not  be  more  comfortable 
where  I  was.  You  remember  the  housekeeper's 
room.  It  is  quite  snug ;  and  there  was  a  little 
girl  to  do  for  me  many  offices  which,  at  home,  I 
must  have  done  for  myself.  I  could  not  afford  a 
servant.  I  could  hardly  afford  myself  bread.  I 
was  much  obliged,  but  said  that  I  could  not  con- 
sent to  remain  unemployed.  This  objection  was 
easily  removed.  The  keys  were  put  into  my 
hands;  and  knowing  of  old  all  the  fixtures  and 
arrangements  -of  the  house,  I  had  no  difficulty  in 
fulfilling  the  duties  of  housekeeper  during  my 
nurse's  illness.  In  this  new  vocation  I  was  so  for- 
tunate as  to  give  entire  satisfaction,  and  as  the 
poor  old,  woman  has  never  recovered  her  activity, 
I  was  invited  to  consider  Raby  Hall  my  home  in 
future,  and  to  take  on  myself  the  office  she  could 
no  longer  fill.  I  was  told  that  I  should  have  the 
benefit  of  such  aid  and  advice  as  she  could  give, 
but  that  her  day  of  service  was  past ;  that  she  had 
reached  that  age  at  which  she  was  entitled  to 
spend  .her  remaining  years  in  repose  and  comfort; 
and  that  my  services  would  deserve  a  higher  re- 
muneration than  mere  subsistence.  This  last 
idea  I  rejected,  and  insisted  on  even  giving  up 
my  lease,  which  was  at  last  accepted.  The  few 
articles  I  no  longer  needed  were  sold,  and  I  was 
duly  installed  as  housekeeper  at  Raby  Hall. 
•'  I  was  now  invited  to  a  seat  at  Major  Swann's 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  127 

table.  This  I  declined.  It  was  pressed  upon  me 
until  I  was  obliged  to  speak  of  my  unfitness  (my 
pride  would  not  let  me  say  unworthiness)  for  soci- 
ety such  as  that  of  Mrs.  Swann.  The  kind  old 
gentleman  said  something  very  civil  about  the 
place  to  which  my  manners  and  conversation  en- 
titled me,  but  acquiesced.  Here  I  have  been  ever 
since,  dividing  my  time  between  my  books  and 
household  cares,  and  quietly  eating  my  humble 
but  comfortable  meals  with  Mammy  Amy  by  her 
little  fire. 

"  Can  you  forgive  the  egotism  of  this  preamble  ? 
I  know  you  will ;  and  I  will  not  aggravate  my  fault 
by  excusing  it." 


CHAPTER   XII. 

"  Look  on  this  withered  rose.     Canst  thou  renew 
Its  bloomy  freshness  1 — the  torn  leaf  repair1? — 
Restore  it  to  the  stalk  where  once  it  grew, 

To  shed  again  its  fragrance  on  the  air, 
And  with  its  balmy  breath  repay  thy  fostering  care  ?" 

"  THINGS  remained  in  this  state,  when  one  day 
coming  in  from  the  dairy,  I  saw  a  man  enter  the 
house.  I  supposed  his  visit  to  be  to  the  major,  and 
quietly  entered  by  the  private  door  and  went  to 


128  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

my  room.     As  I  approached  the  door,  I  heard  the 
voice  of  the  old  woman,  saying, 

"  *  Sit  down  if  you  please,  master.  Did  you  say 
you  wanted  to  see  me,  sir  ?' 

" '  Yes/  was  the  answer,  in  a  voice  that  did  not 
sound  entirely  new  to  me.  *  I  have  a  message  for 
you.' 

"  *  A  message,  sir !   And  who's  it  from,  master  T 

"  *  It  is  from  a  lady.' 

"  c  A  lady  !  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  lady 
it  can  be,  unless  it's  Miss  Ann,  poor  thing !  and 
I  reckon  she  don't  hardly  remember  the  old 
woman.' 

" '  It  is  a  lady,'  said  the  voice,  now  sounding 
husky  and  choking,  <  who  put  something  in  your 
hands  to  keep  a  long  time  ago,  and  she  has  sent  me 
for  it.' 

"  I  now  perceived  that  the  speaker  was  Mon- 
tague, and  nothing  but  my  abhorrence  of  him  pre- 
vented my  rushing  into  the  room  to  ask  him  about 
my  brother.  I  restrained  myself,  and  the  old  wo- 
man made  no  answer. 

"  *  You  don't  understand  me,  I  believe/  said 
Montague. 

ttt  Maybe  I  don't/  said  she,  with  some  sharpness 
of  tone. 

" «  You  know/  said  he,  *  that  the  thing  I  speak 
of  was  a  bundle  of  papers,  and  that  you  were  to 
keep  it  until  she  came  or  sent  for  them.' 

"  No  answer. 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


129 


"'I  suppose  you  are  waiting  to  see  the  token 
that  she  sent.' 

"  '  I  don't  know  what  you  call  a  token,'  said  the 
old  woman. 

"*  Well,  'said  Montague,  *  you  know  you  and 
she  broke  a  ring  in  two,  and  you  have  one  half  and 
she  the  other.  Whoever  she  sent  for  the  bundle 
was  to  bring  it.' 

"  f  You  talk  like  you  got  something  to  show  me, 
master,'  said  the  wary  old  woman.  *  Will  you  let 
me  see  what  it  is,  sir  ?' 

•'  *  I  have  lost  it,'  was  the  reply. 

"  *  Well,  I  reckon  it  don't  make  no  odds,'  said 
she,  carelessly. 

"  Startled  at  this  answer,  which,  however, .  I 
totally  misunderstood,  I  entered  the  room.  Mon- 
tague was  sitting  opposite  the  door.  He  obviously 
did  not  recollect  me  at  first,  and  rose  with  a  slight 
salutation,  such  as  he  doubtless  deemed  appropriate 
to  my  humble  apparel.  Before  he  resumed  his 
seat,  however,  his  eye  met  mine,  and  he  sunk  into 
it  overwhelmed  with  trepidation  and  dismay.  My 
own  agitation  was  scarcely  less  than  his.  I  first 
found  my  voice,  and  inquired  for  James.  He  hes- 
itated, faltered,  and  stammered  out  that  he  had 
parted  with  him  on  the  way,  and  expected  him  in 
a  few  days. 

"  '  Where  did  they  separate  ?' 

"  *  In  Missouri/ 

"  I  inquired  for  you,  and  was  told  that  you  and 
James  would  come  together. 


130 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


"The  manner  in  which  this  was  said,  indeed, 
his  whole  deportment,  would  have  filled  me  with 
distrust,  even  if  I  had  never  known  him.  But  when 
I  reflected  on  his  habitual  baseness,  and  remem- 
bered his  uneasy  tone  While  speaking  with  the  old 
woman,  and  then  the  utter  discomfiture  with  which 
my  appearance  overwhelmed  him,  I  had  no  doubt 
that  he  had  been  guilty  of  some  new  villany.  My 
alarm  was  excessive,  and  I  could  scarcely  com- 
mand it  so  far  as  to  continue  the  conversation. 
He  now  turned  to  the  old  woman,  who  told  him 
with  great  composure,  that  if  his  message  was 
from  me,  I  was  present  to  speak  for  myself.  Hav- 
ing taken  up  this  position,  she  remained  perfectly 
impracticable  to  all  his  attempts  to  draw  her  into 
a  discussion.  With  me  he  saw  that  his  case  was 
hopeless  for  the  present.  Still  he  could  not  at 
once  desist  from  endeavouring  to  get  me  to  talk  of 
the  packet,  but  I  had  taken  my  cue  from  the  old 
woman,  and  resolutely  imitated  her  obstinate  si- 
lence. At  length  he  went  away,  and  left  me  in  a 
state  of  anxiety  and  alarm  for  my  poor  boy  which 
I  have  no  words  to  express. 

"The  next  day  he  again  made  his  appearance, 
and,  suppressing  his  impatience  to  get  hold  of  the 
packet,  made  a  display  of  great  interest  in  my 
welfare,  was  full  of  concern  for  the  humble  and 
dependant  situation  in  which  he  saw  me,  and 
hoped  that  James's  return  would  place  me  in  a 
more  desirable  and  suitable  condition.  To  all 
this  I  only  answered  that  in  my  condition  James's 


GEORGE   BALCOMBE.  131 

return  could  make  no  difference.  This  baffled  him 
again  by  showing  that  I  was  not  to  be  approached 
on  the  side  of  pecuniary  interest. 

"  He  now  lamented  in  pathetic  terms  his  misfor- 
tune in  not  being  permitted  to  contribute,  in  any 
way,  to  the  happiness  of  one  whose  happiness 
was  so  dear  to  him  ;  and  he  dropped  many  distant 
hints  which  made  me  see  that  there  was  no  depth 
of  hypocrisy,  at  least,  perhaps  no  sacrifice,  to 
which  he  would  not  descend  to  carry  his  point.  I 
was  therefore  but  the  more  resolved  to  maintain 
mine,  and  at  all  events  to  hold  the  packet  as  a  hos- 
tage for  the  safe  appearance  of  James.  Accord- 
ingly, when,  after  speaking  me  fair  during  a  long 
glozing  conversation,  he  concluded  with  express- 
ing a  hope  that  I  would  give  up  the  packet,  seeing 
that  he  had  complied  to  the  letter  with  all  your  re- 
quirements, I  coldly  said  that  I  should  await  the 
return  of  James. 

•' '  But,'  said  he,  '  you  may  assure  yourself  that 
your  brother  will  certainly  be  here  in  a  few  days.' 

'*  *  There  can  be  the  less  inconvenience,  then/ 
said  I,  *  in  waiting  for  him.' 

"  This  disconcerted  him  excessively  :  he  mut- 
tered something  about  the  urgency  of  his  affairs, 
to  which  I  answered, 

"  *  I  know  nothing  about  your  affairs,  sir,  and  am 
resolved  to  know  nothing  about  your  business  with 
me  until  I  see  my  brother.' 

"  He  now  became  silent,  mused  a  while,  and 
again  began  to  talk  in  a  strain  of  great  respect, 


132  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

with  distant  and  guarded  expressions  of  kindness. 
I  saw  his  drift,  and  let  him  go  away  without  ob- 
taining any  further  satisfaction,  or  giving  him  more 
insight  into  my  thoughts  than  I  had  already  done. 

"  The  next  day  he  appeared  again  with  a  hand- 
some equipage,  and.  dressed  with  studied  care. 
The  topics  of  the  preceding  day  were  resumed. 
He  spoke  of  his  departure  from  Virginia,  of  losses 
and  difficulties,  which  had  embarrassed  his  affairs, 
and  rendered  that  measure  necessary  ;  of  the  pain 
it  had  cost  him  to  think  of  the  situation  in  which  I 
had  been  left,  and  of  his  inability  to  afford  me  re- 
lief; of  his  subsequent  successful  enterprises,  and 
of  the  prosperous  condition  of  his  affairs  at  this 
time ;  of  his  respect  for  my  mother,  his  sorrow  for 
her  death ;  and  his  deep  regret  that  he  had  not 
been  so  fortunate  as  to  effect  the  arrangements 
designed  to  provide  for  her  comfort  before  she 
was  beyond  the  reach  of  human  aid.  My  poor 
mother  !  You  will  hardly  wonder  that  this  allu- 
sion to  her  wretched  life  and  recent  death  brought 
tears  into  my  eyes.  The  hypocrite  saw  and  mis- 
understood them.  He  had  found  me,  as  he  sup- 
posed, in  melting  mood,  and  closed  his  long  dis- 
course of  protestation  and  profession  with  an  offer 
of  marriage. 

"  Humiliation  has  subdued  my  spirit, George ;  and 
the  duty  of  bearing  myself  meekly  under  the  seorn 
and  scoffs  of  the  world,  (of  which,  though  unjust,  I 
have  no  right  to  complain,  for  the  world's  injus- 
tice is  but  a  rod  in  the  hands  of  Him  whose  chas- 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE, 


133 


tenings  I  have  so  well  deserved,)  has  taught  me 
self-command.  But  though  you  will  see  that 
such  is  the  natural  effect  of  past  events  upon  my 
character,  you  will  hardly  believe  that  I  bore  this 
insult  calmly.  But  I  did.  I  quietly  turned  to  the 
little  negro  girl,  and  said, 

"  *  Go  to  Major  Swann,  and  ask  him  if  he  pleases 
to  come  here.' 

"  She  went  out,  and  he  remained  completely 
disconcerted.  I  have  neglected  to  mention  that 
the  old  woman  was  out.  As  to  the  girl,  she  was 
a  mere  child,  to  whom  all  she  had  heard  was  with- 
out meaning.  I  now  turned  to  Montague,  and 
said,  with  perfect  composure, 

"  *  After  what  has  passed  between  us  formerly, 
sir,  you  cannot  wonder  that  I  should  deem  it  neces- 
sary to  ask  you  to  repeat,  in  the  presence  of  a 
witness,  what  you  have  just  said/ 

44  This  added  to  his  perplexity.  The  struggle 
of  contending  passions  was  dreadful.  I  saw  that 
he  deemed  himself  taken  in  a  trap  ;  that  his  first 
thought  was  to  break  away  by  retracting  what  he 
had  said,  and  escaping  before  the  major's  appear- 
ance, and  that  he  finally  determined  to  yield  to 
necessity,  and  go  through  with  what  he  had  begun. 
I  did  not  interrupt  his  cogitations,  but  amused  my- 
self in  silence  with  tracing  in  his  countenance  those 
workings  of  his  mind.  At  length  the  major  ap- 
peared. He  looked  surprised  at  the  sight  of  a 
well-dressed  man  in  the  housekeeper's  room,  and 
stood  a  moment  as  if  waiting  for  an  introduction. 

VOL.  II. — M 


134  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

But  waiving  this  ceremony,  I  respectfully  begged 
him  to  be  seated,  saying  that  I  had  sent  for  him  to 
be  a  witness  of  what  should  pass  between  that 
gentleman  and  myself.  Then  turning  to  Mon- 
tague, I  said,  *  I  will  trouble  you  now,  Mr.  Mon- 
tague, to  repeat  precisely  and  distinctly  the  prop- 
osition which  you  just  now  made  me.' 

"  He  looked  every  way,  and  turned  all  colours, 
and  at  length  made  out  to  say,  that  he  had  just 
made  me,  and  now  repeated  an  offer  of  his  hand  in 
marriage. 

"  It  was  sinful,  George,  the  triumph  of  my  feel- 
ings at  that  moment.  What  had  I  to  do  with  in- 
solent exultation,  even  over  the  wretch  to  whom  I 
owed  all  the  miseries  of  my  wretched  life  ?  But  I 
did  not  then  ask  myself  that  question.  All  my 
overmastered  feelings  broke  loose  from  my  con- 
trol. I  felt  my  frame  dilate,  and  my  features 
swell  with  abhorrence  and  disdain,  as  I  fixed  my 
eye  upon  him,  and  said, 

"  '  And  I  spit  my  scorn  at  you,  vile  betrayer  of 
trusting  innocence !' 

"  I  never  in  my  life  expected  to  behold  such  a 
tumult  of  rage,  perplexity,  and  dismay  as  Mon- 
tague's countenance  now  exhibited.  I  cannot  de- 
scribe anything  that  he  did,  or  repeat  anything  that 
he  said*  It  was  all  spasm,  tumult,  and  interjec- 
tion, horrible  to  behold  or  hear. 

u  At  length  he  went  away,  leaving  the  kind  old 
gentleman  lost  in  amazement.  He  now  spoke  to 
me,  and  with  a  good  deal  of  hesitancy  and  embar- 


GEOBGE  BALCOMBE. 

rassment  intimated  to  me  that  the  words  I  had 
used  to  Montague  required  explanation. 

"  *  I  am  sensible  of  it,  my  dear  sir,'  said  I ;  *  and 
if  the  disclosure  of  what  those  words  imported  has 
been  delayed  to  this  day,  it  has  not  been  the  effect 
of  duplicity,  or  a  wish  to  deceive,  but  of  a  feeling 
of  delicacy.  I  beg  you  to  remember  that  I  cau- 
tiously declined  all  those  proposals  which  might 
have  given  me  more  of  the  countenance  and  soci- 
ety of  your  kind  lady  than  I  had  a  right  to  expect. 
Even  in  my  present  humble  condition  I  fear  I  may 
be  deemed  a  furtive  intruder,  and  have  long  wished 
to  make  known  the  whole  truth.  To  you  I  cannot 
speak  it.  Will  you  give  me  an  opportunity  of 
conversing  with  Mrs.  Swann,  that  she  may  have 
it  in  her  power  to  judge  whether  I  am  a  proper  in- 
mate of  this  family  V 

11  i  I  will  send  her  to  you,'  said  he. 

" '  I  thank  you  sir,  and  beg  that  you  will  prepare 
her  for  what  I  have  to  say  by  telling  her  what  has 
just  passed.' 

"  He  did  so.  The  good  old  lady  came  ;  and  I 
disclosed  to  her  what,  until  then,  was  known  to 
none  on  earth  but  Montague  and  you.  I  did  not 
expect  any  harshness  from  her ;  but  I  was  unpre- 
pared for  her  kindness.  She  wept  over  me,  she 
comforted  me,  she  even  praised  me.  Oh,  what  a 
relief!  To  find  myself  in  the  presence  of  a  high- 
minded  and  delicate  matron,  who,  knowing  the 
worst  of  me  that  I  knew  of  myself,  yet  did  not 
spurn  me,  nor  look  on  me  with  loathing,  but  re^ 


136  GEORGE    BALCOMBB. 

garding  me  as  one  c  more  sinned  against  than  sin- 
ning,' gave  me  her  sympathy,  and  with  all  a  mo- 
ther's tenderness  poured  the  balm  of  consolation 
into  my  heart.  Since  the  day  that  you  so  far 
overcame  the  repugnance  of  outraged  love,  as  to 
let  me  feel  that,  though  fallen,  I  was  neither  hate- 
ful nor  despicable  to  you,  I  have  experienced  no 
such  comfort  as  in  that  interview.  The  gratitude 
I  have  owed  you  ever  since  has  now  a  second 
object.  But  not  the  less  are  my  acknowledgments, 
my  thanks,  my  prayers,  due  to  the  generous  effort 
you  then  made,  to  spare  the  heart  of  her  who  had 
placed  a  dagger  in  your  own." 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

A  fox,  full  fraught  with  seeming  sanctity, 
That  feared  an  oath,  but  like  the  devil  would  lie  j 
Who  looked  like  Lent,  and  had  the  holy  leer, 
And  durst  not  sin  before  he  said  his  prayer. 

DRTDBN. 

"  1  NOW  found  the  full  benefit  of  the  advantage 
Montague  had  given  me  over  him.  It  entitled  me 
to  entire  credence  in  the  history  I  gave,  and  I  re- 
ceived it.  The  kind  old  lady  left  me  in  tears,  and 

presently  her  husband  returned  with  features  work- 
r  J 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  137 

ing  with  emotion,  to  say  what  he  could  not  say. 
He  could  but  take  my  hand,  press  it  in  silence,  and 
leave  me. 

"  I  tell  you  these  things  because  you  will  know 
how.  I  was  affected  by  them,  and  your  kind  heart 
will  rejoice  that  comfort  has  found  its  way  to  mine. 
But  to  my  tale. 

"  The  next  day  Montague  reappeared.  As 
soon  as  he  was  announced  I  sent  for  Major  Swann, 
and  when  that  gentleman  came  admitted  him,  I 
had  not  yet  sufficiently  rebuked  the  insolence  of 
triumph  to  repress  something  of  a  sneer,  as  I  told 
him  that  after  what  had  passed  the  day  before, 
he  would  see  the  impropriety  of  my  meeting  him 
again  except  in  the  presence  of  a  witness. 

"'I  have  no  objection,  madam,'  said  he;  'I 
don't  care  how  many  witnesses  are  present.  I 
am  come  to  demand  my  property,  and  I  am  glad 
Mr.  Swann  is  here,  because  if  you  don't  give  it  up 
I  shall  appeal  to  him.' 

" '  I  am  not  conscious  that  I  have  anything  of 
yours,  sir.  The  only  article  that  I  ever  received 
at  your  hands  you  gave  me  to  do  with  as  1  pleased. 
Is  it  your  purpose  to  reclaim  that  ?' 

"  *  It  is  my  purpose,'  said  he,  *  to  reclaim  the 
packet  you  have  kept  from  me  so  long.' 

" '  Be  pleased,'  said  I,  '  to  say  how  long,  and 
how  I  came  by  it.' 

"  '  It  makes  no  difference,'  he  replied.     '  It  is  a 
packet  of  valuable  papers  belonging  to  the  estate 
of  Mr.  Raby,  and  if  Mr.  Swann  has  a  proper  care 
M  2 


138  GEORGE    fiALCOMBE. 

of  the  interest  of  his  employer,  he  will  not  suffer 
them  to  be  secreted  in  this  very  house.' 

"  *  When  I  need  to  be  instructed,  sir,'  said  the 
spirited  old  gentleman,  '  in  my  duty  to  my  em- 
ployer, I  shall  be  glad  to  learn  of  you.  In  the 
mean  time,  Miss  Mary,  1  have  no  doubt  you  will 
inform  me  what  all  this  means.' 

"'  I  will  tell  you/  said  I,  'all  I  know.' 

"  Accordingly,  I  gave  him  an  account  of  so  much 
of  the  affair  as  it  was  necessary  he  should  know. 
He  heard  me  through,  and  then  said  that  it  seemed 
that  the  papers  must  be  of  small  value,  as  it  ap- 
peared that  Montague  had  been  totally  indifferent 
to  their  destruction.  To  this  he  remarked  that  he 
had  not  then  known  their  value. 

" '  If  you  did  not  then  know  what  they  were/ 
asked  the  major, '  how  have  you  found  out  since  ?' 

*' '  I  did  know  what  they  were,'  said  he, '  but  it  is 
only  of  late  that  I  have  been  made  acquainted  with 
their  importance.' 

" '  And  where  do  you  suppose  them  now  to  be  T 

"  *  In  this  house.  In  her  possession,  or  in  that  of 
old  Amy.' 

44  *  What  reason  have  you  for  thinking  so  ?' 

"  '  Her  own  letter/ 

"  '  Where  is  that  V 

" '  I  have  been  robbed  of  it,'  said  Montague, 
after  hesitating  a  while. 

"  *  This  is  a  strange  affair,'  said  the  major. 

" '  Strange  or  not  strange,'  said  Montague,  '  I 
tell  you  it  is  so,  and  that  the  secreting  of  those 


GEORGE    BALCOIOE.  139 

papers  is  of  the  utmost  importance  to  the  interest 
of  Mr,  Raby.  Now,  sir,  if  you  do  not  choose,' 
added  he,  petulantly,  *  to  use  your  authority  for  his 
benefit,  so  far  as  to  search  his  own  house  for  his 
stolen  property,  I  shall  be  under  the  necessity — ' 

"  He  paused  as  he  caught  the  eye  of  the  major, 
who  said  coldly, 

"'  To  do  what,  sir?' 

"  l  To  get  a  search  warrant,  sir,'  said  Montague, 
after  taking  a  second  thought. 

" '  You  shall  have  one,  sir,  on  making  the  proper 
affidavit.  I  am  a  justice  of  the  peace.  I  will  send 
for  the  constable  to-night ;  and  though  I  have  no 
right,  as  master  here  for  the  time  being,  to  outrage 
Miss  Scott's  feelings  by  searching  her  apartment, 
on  your  bare  suggestion,  yet,  as  an  officer  of  the 
law,  I  am  no  respecter  of  persons.  Call  in  the 
morning,  sir,'  added  he,  with  an  air  of  lofty  polite- 
ness, 'and  you  will  find  it  so.'  Montague  took 
the  hint  and  disappeared. 

"  The  next  morning  I  felt  somewhat  indisposed. 
I  had  been  the  day  before  invited  to  consult  my 
ease  more  than  I  had  done ;  and  as  Mammy  Amy 
was  now  well  enough  to  attend  to  some  trifling 
duties,  I  kept  my  bed  until  ten  o'clock.  Before  I 
left  it  I  was  told  a  gentleman  wished  to  see  me. 

"'Was  it  Montague?' 

"'No.' 

"  I  described  you.  No.  It  was  a  young  man 
of  dark  complexion  ;  a  stranger.  I  excused  my- 
self to  him,  and  he  went  away,  leaving  a  packet 


140  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

hastily  folded  up,  and  directed,  in  pencil,  l  To  Miss 
Scott,  with  the  compliments  of  James  Brown.'  I 
opened  it,  and  found  a  letter  to  him,  the  seal  of 
which  was  broken.  Of  course  it  was  meant  that 
I  should  read  it.  It  proved  to  be  from  a  gentleman 
of  the  name  of  Napier,  and  contained  the  history 
of  the  machinations  of  Montague  against  you  and 
James.  I  was  somewhat  relieved,  because  it  ex- 
plained the  poor  boy's  absence;  and  though  it 
showed  that  the  arts  of  Montague  had  placed  you 
both  in  an  unpleasant  predicament,  I  saw  that  no 
danger  was  apprehended.  But  I  need  not  tell  you 
what  you  know.  I  now  for  the  first  time  under- 
stood the  nature  of  this  mysterious  packet,  and  the 
drift  of  Montague's  strange  conduct  regarding  it. 
Knowing  him  as  I  do,  it  was  all  made  plain  to  me. 
He  is  at  once  the  wickedest  and  the  most  supersti- 
tious wretch  on  earth,  and  I  doubt  whether  avarice 
itself,  or  even  mortar  fear  (his  two  master  pas- 
sions) could  make  him  swear  to  a  literal  falsehood. 
I  remember,  too,  that  at  the  critical  moment  when 
his  work  of  fraud  was  to  be  accomplished,  he  was 
overtaken  by  one  of  those  visitations  which  such 
as  he  are  apt  to  mistake  for  the  workings  of  the 
spirit  of  God.  I  remember  the  awful  writhings  of 
his  remorse ;  and  that  his  mind  ran  much  on  the 
subject  of  perjury  ;  though  he  always  spoke  of  it 
with  abhorrence,  and  seemed  to  seek  consolation 
in  the  thought  that  of  that  crime  he  was  free.  I 
now  see  that  at  that  very  time  the  wretch  was 
contriving  a  scheme  to  cheat  not  only  man  but 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  141 

God.  I  suppose  he  was  unwilling  to  trust  any  one 
capable  of  becoming  a  knowing  accomplice  in  his 
villany,  and  I  see  the  motive  of  the  pains  he  took 
to  establish  such  an  intercourse  with  me,  as  would 
give  countenance  to  his  request  that  I  would  take 
charge  of  the  packet.  His  strange  behaviour  on 
the  occasion,  and  the  art  he  used  after  having  got 
it  lodged  in  my  custody,  to  beguile  me  of  what  I 
should  deem  equivalent  to  an  oath,  left  no  doubt 
of  this. 

"  My  first  thought  was  to  hand  the  letter  and 
packet  to  Major  Swann,  but  it  presently  occurred 
to  me  that,  by  doing  so,  I  might  place  him  in  a 
delicate  situation  between  his  duty  to  his  employer 
and  his  duty  as  a  man.  I  resolved,  therefore,  to 
let  things  take  their  course,  but  at  the  same  time 
to  use  effectual  measures  to  keep  the  packet  from 
falling  into  Montague's  hands. 

"  Before  I  gave  it  to  Mammy  Amy,  I  had  put 
it  into  a  small  toy  trunk,  which  I  locked,  keeping 
the  key  myself.  Near  the  hearth  was  a  place 
where  a  hole  had  been  burned  in  the  floor,  and 
here  a  short  plank  had  been  laid  down.  This  was 
loose.  I  took  it  up,  put  down  the  trunk,  and,  with 
the  broom  handle,  pushed  it  away  to  the  wall.  I 
had  taken  the  precaution  to  tie  a  bit  of  tape  to  the 
handle,  the  end  of  which  I  left  in  reach,  but  too 
far  under  to  be  seen  without  stooping  low  and 
putting  the  face  to  the  hole.  I  did  this  while  my 
nurse  was  out,  so  that  I  alone  knew  where  it  was. 
-.,.••  . 


142  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

Having  thus  completed  my  arrangements,  I  awaited 
patiently  the  approach  of  the  enemy. 

"  About  noon  Montague  arrived.  The  constable 
was  already  there.  Montague  was  a  long  time 
closeted  with  the  major,  I  supposed  engaged  in 
coining  a  suitable  affidavit.  At  length  they  all 
came  together  to  my  room.  The  kind  old  gentle- 
man apologized  with  the  utmost  courtesy  and 
deference  to  my  feelings  for  what  he  was  about  to 
do,  and  handed  me  Montague's  affidavit.  This 
testified  that  six  years  ago  he  had  left  at  my  mo- 
ther's a  packet  which  he  described  by  external 
marks  and  seals ;  that  he  had  reason  to  believe 
and  did  believe  that  I  had  got  possession  of  it,  and 
that  it  was  secreted  somewhere  in  the  house.  The 
search  was  now  commenced,  and  every  corner  of 
the  room  was  ransacked.  Montague  took  little  part 
in  it,  but  kept  his  eyes  on  me,  and  pointed  out  sus- 
pected places.  I  became  at  last  impatient  of  his 
insolent  gaze,  I  felt  my  spirit  rise,  and  was  con- 
scious of  that  flash  of  the  eye  before  which  his 
always  quails,  even  when  he  sees  it  in  the  face  of 
a  woman.  I  now  kept  my  eye  on  him,  and  his 
avoided  it,  though  he  occasionally  stole  a  furtive 
glance.  At  length,  walking  across  the  floor,  he 
felt  the  loose  plank  move  under  his  feet.  He 
stooped  and  raised  it.  I  felt  my  courage  give  way, 
and  as  he  lifted  himself  up  after  his  short  and  fruit- 
less search,  our  eyes  met,  and  I  was  conscious  that 
mine  had  blenched.  I  felt  that  thick  throbbing  of 
the  heart  which  always  displays  itself  in  the  coun- 


GEORGE   BALCOMBE.  143 

tenance,  and  again  stole  a  look  at  him  to  see  if  he 
had  observed  me.  He  had  replaced  the  plank, 
and  looked  on  the  protracted  search  with  less  ap- 
parent interest  than  before.  I  saw,  indeed,  that 
he  was  weary  of  its  continuance,  and  he  soon  ex- 
pressed himself  satisfied.  They  now  left  the  room  ; 
Montague  last  of  all.  There  is  no  fastening  to  the 
door,  but  a  large  bar  inconveniently  heavy,  and  a 
slight  latch.  This  caught  as  he  closed  the  door 
after  him,  and  I  was  once  more  alone.  I  listened 
a  moment,  and  heard  the  trampling  of  many  feet, 
and  the  sound  of  many  voices  die  away  along  the 
passage.  My  uneasiness  now  took  its  natural 
course.  I  ran  to  the  hole  and  lifted  the  plank.  At 
the  moment  the  door  opened,  and  Montague  reap- 
peared. The  sagacity  of  the  cunning  wretch  had 
taught  him  to  expect  what  1  would  do  under  the 
influence  of  my  alarmed  and  excited  feelings.  He 
had  stopped  at  the  door  while  the  rest  went  on, 
and  came  in  suddenly  as  soon  as  he  had  allowed 
time  for  nature  to  do  her  work.  He  now  sprang 
forward,  while  I,  powerless  with  alarm,  sank  into 
a  chair.  He  stooped  down,  and  looked  eagerly 
along  the  dark  hole,  and  finally,  groping,  got  hold 
of  the  end  of  the  string.  He  drew  it  out,  and  I 
heard  the  little  trunk  come  grating  along  over  the 
laths  below.  I  screamed  and  sprang  to  him.  He 
pushed  me  back,  drew  out  the  trunk,  crushed  it 
with  his  heel,  and  seizing  the  packet  flung  it  into 
the  fire. 
'« It  was  a  mild  October  day,  and  there  was  just 


144  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

so  much  fire  as  an  old  woman  needs  to  comfort  her 
rheumatic  limbs.  I  rushed  to  it  to  rescue  the 
packet.  He  seized  and  held  me  back,  and  I  strug- 
gled, still  screaming.  The  major,  who  had  missed 
Montague,  and  was  returning  to  look  for  him, 
alarmed  at  my  cries,  hurried  back.  As  soon  as  I 
saw  him  I  exclaimed, 

" '  In  the  fire  !     In  the  fire  !' 

"  He  understood  me  and  approached  the  hearth. 
Montague  flung  me  across  the  room  to  my  bed, 
on  which  I  fell  half  insensible.  But  I  saw  Mon- 
tague rudely  seize  the*  major  around  the  waist,  and 
jerk  him  back,  when,  at  the  moment,  Charles,  my 
foster-brother,  entered.  He  darted  at  Montague, 
and  with  one  blow  of  his  fist  felled  him  to  the 
floor.  The  major,  disengaged,  rescued  the  packet 
from  the  fire,  where  its  surface  only  was  scorched, 
and  turned  to  confront  Montague,  who  slowly 
recovered  his  feet. 

'« '  What  means  this,  Mr.  Montague  ?'  said  he. 
*  Is  this  the  way  you  treat  valuable  papers  belong- 
ing to  your  employer  and  mine  V 

"The  stunning  blow  that  Montague  had  re- 
ceived gave  him  an  excuse  for  not  answering  im- 
mediately, and  he  stood  the  picture  of  rage,  alarm, 
and  perplexity.  At  length  he  replied  that  he  knew 
his  duty  to  Mr.  Raby.  and  that  gentleman's  wishes, 
and  had  therefore  sought  to  destroy  the  packet. 
He  added  that  he  was  not  accountable  to  any  one 
but  his  principal,  and  demanded  to  have  the  papers 
delivered  up. 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.1  145 

.,' 

*«  *  You  forget  that  he  is  my  principal,  too,  sir/ 
rejoined  the  major.  *  I  am  not  sure  that  I  am  at 
liberty  to  permit  the  destruction  of  anything  I  find 
under  this  roof.' 

"  Montague  puzzled  a  while,  and  then  said,  that 
having  obtained  the  packet  under  a  search  warrant, 
he  had  a  right  to  demand  it. 

"  *  Pardon  me,  sir,'  said  the  major ;  *  having 
been  found  under  a  search  warrant,  it  is  in  the 
custody  of  the  law  until  the  title  is  proved.' 

** f  Is  it  not  proof  enough,'  said  Montague,  *  that 
I  have  described  it  in  my  affidavit  ?  Look  at  it, 
sir,  and  you  will  see  that  I  have  given  an  accurate 
account  of  the  impressions  of  the  seals,  from  a 
memorandum  made  when  it  was  sealed  up/ 

"'It  may  have  been  so,  sir,'  said  the  major; 
'but  I  should  rather  suspect  the  impressions  to 
have  been  different  from  those  described,  judging 
by  your  impatience  to  obliterate  them.  There  is 
nothing  here,  sir,  but  melted  wax,  with  no  impres- 
sions at  all.' 

"  You,  who  know  Montague,  need  not  be  told 
how  he  looked  at  the  discovery  of  this  effect  of  his 
own  impatience.  I  do  think  the  keenest  self- 
reproach  he  ever  feels  is  when  his  villany  is  baffled 
by  his  own  blunders.  After  a  short  pause  the 
major  added, 

" 4  There  is  a  simple  test  of  property  here,  Mr. 
Montague.  Describe  the  papers  in  this  packet — 
you  say  you  know  what  they  are— I  will  then 

VOL.    II. N 


146  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

open  it,  and  if  they  answer  the  description,  you 
shall  have  them.' 

"To  this  Montague  replied,  that  he  was  not  at 
liberty  to  disclose  his  patron's  secrets. 

" '  Perhaps  not,'  said  the  major ;  *  I  have  no  wish 
to  pry  into  them.  But  the  papers  are,  I  presume, 
endorsed,  and  I  only  ask  such  a  description  as  is 
commonly  found  in  an  endorsement.' 

"  This  proposition  also  being  declined  by  Mon- 
tague, the  major  said, 

"  *  Well,  sir,  the  only  remaining  doubt  in  this 
case  is,  whether  there  is  enough  proved  to  entitle 
me  to  detain  this  parcel  from  Miss  Scott  another 
moment.  There  is  certainly  not  enough  to  justify 
me  in  putting  it  out  of  the  custody  of  the  law  into 
any  hand  but  hers.  But  as  I  may  be  better  able 
than  she  to  secure  it  against  ruffian  violence,  I 
will  with  her  approbation  get  rid  of  this  difficulty, 
by  keeping  it  for  her,  or  you,  or  Mr.  Raby,  or  any 
person  who  may  show  title  to  demand  it.' 

11  To  this  proposition  I  joyfully  assented.  At 
this  moment  Charles  caught  the  major's  eye. 

" '  Charles,  my  good  boy,'  said  he,  *  you  have 
done  me  good  service,  and  I  thank  you.  And  you, 
sir,-  turning  to  Montague,  *  having  received  the 
chastisement  of  your  insolence  from  a  hand  more 
fit  to  touch  your  person  than  mine,  may  be  thank- 
ful that  I  dismiss  you  without  any  further  punish- 
ment. Go,  sir.  If  you  have  occasion  to  call  on 
me  in  the  way  of  business,  I  will  attend  you  at 


GEORGE    EALCOMBE.  147 

some  other  place.     Here  you  come  no  more  while 
I  retain  authority  here.' 

"  This  put  an  end  to  the  scene  and  to  Monta- 
gue's visit.  I  have  neither  seen  nor  heard  of  him 
since.  I  suppose  it  often  happens  that  there  are 
men  who  seize  upon  such  occasions  as  that  of  a 
constable's  search,  to  thrust  themselves  where 
they  have  no  business.  This  was  the  case  in  this 
instance.  My  room  was  invaded  by  a  promis- 
cuous rabble  of  men  and  boys,  some  of  whom, 
judging  by  their  dress,  should  have  had  more 
respect  for  decorum.  But  there  they  were  during 
the  search;  and  having  heard  the  uproar  which 
afterward  took  place,  they  had  all  returned. 
Among  the  number,  I  now  remarked  a  very  gen- 
teel-looking young  man,  who,  approaching  me  with 
great  courtesy,  asked  if  I  had  that  morning  re- 
ceived a  packet.  On  my  answering  in  the  affirm- 
ative, he  informed  me  that  he  was  the  bearer.  The 
recollection  of  his  manner,  which  was  marked  by 
the  most  delicate  respect,  reminds  me  to  thank 
you,  George,  for  the  kind  terms,  in  which,  as  I 
gathered  from  Mr.  Napier's  letter,  you  had  spoken 
of  me  to  him.  Oh  !  is  it  possible  that  I  am  yet  to 
be  permitted  to  show  myself  among  the  good  and 
wise,  to  enjoy  their  society,  to  witness  their  vir- 
tues, and  even  be  blessed  with  their  friendship, 
after  having  so  long  been  a  *  hissing  and  a  byword,' 
even  for  the  low  and  vile  ?  Can  I  be  ever  grateful 
enough  to  you,  George  ?  Yet  how  little  do  I  show 
my  gratitude,  when  I  have  forgotten,  in  the  hurry 


148 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


of  my  own  story,  to  express  the  pleasure  with 
which  I  also  learned  that  you  are  blessed  with  a 
wife  every  way  worthy  to  bear  your  name  and  to 
share  your  fortune.  Dear  George,  may  you  both 
be  happy. 

"  But  to  return  to  Mr.  Brown.  He  said  as  soon 
as  he  heard  what  was  passing,  he  had  hastened  to 
afford  me  any  aid  in  his  power,  but  arrived  only  in 
time  to  witness  the  closing  scene.  I  now  returned 
him  his  letter,  and  he  was  about  to  go  away  when 
Major  Swann  said, 

"  *  I  perceive,  sir,  you  are  an  acquaintance  of 
Miss  Scott's.  I  shall  always  be  happy  to  see  her 
friends  here,  and  hope  you  will  not  think  of  leaving 
us  before  dinner.' 

"  The  invitation  was  pressed  and  accepted,  and 
they  left  the  room.  Was  it  possible  that  I  had 
heard  aright  ?  Was  my  friendship  a  passport  to 
the  notice  of  a  gentleman,  who,  though  fallen  in  his 
fortunes,  possessed  as  much  delicacy,  refinement, 
and  honour  as  any  man  on  earth?  Judge  my  sur- 
prise, when,  as  I  asked  myself  this,  he  turned  back, 
and  coming  up  to  me,  took  my  hand,  and  said,  in 
the  gentlest  tone  of  entreaty, 

" '  Won't  you  dine  with  us  to-day  ?  Pray  do. 
It  will  so  much  oblige  us.' 

"  What  could  I  do,  George,  but  burst  into  tears, 
and  weep  like  a  child  ?  He  seated  me,  and  stood 
by  me  until  I  found  words  to  say,  '  I  will — I  will.' 
It  was  all  I  could  say. 

"  I  went  to  dinner,  and  behaved  as  well  as  I 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  149 

could  after  thirteen  years  of  banishment  from  so- 
ciety. This  movement  was  followed  up.  I  was 
beguiled  by  kindness  from  my  resolution,  and  since, 
except  that  I  am  privileged  to  breakfast  in  my 
room,  I  take  my  meals  at  the  table  of  this  highly 
finished  specimen  of  that  most  honourable  race  of 
men,  the  ancient  gentry  of  Virginia.  I  find,  too, 
that  my  keys  are  wiled  away  from  me,  and  by 
degrees  I  have  been  made  to  feel  that  no  service 
of  any  kind  is  expected  of  me.  On  my  expressing 
my  unwillingness  to  be  thus  a  tax  on  Mr.  Raby, 
whom  I  did  not  know,  I  was  told  that  Major  Swann 
had  stipulated  for  the  right  to  introduce  into  his 
family  a  companion  for  his  wife,  and  that  they 
would  be  delighted  to  entertain  me  in  that  charac- 
ter. My  objections  thus  overcome,  I  was  trans- 
ferred to  a  neat  and  well-furnished  apartment,  my 
mammy's  bed  placed  in  a  little  room  adjoining,  and 
a  new  housekeeper  being  fixed  on,  the  good  old 
woman  was  discharged  from  all  duty  but  that  of 
attending  on  me.  Hence  my  leisure  to  inflict  on 
you  this  tedious  narrative. 

"  The  day  after  the  search,  the  major,  returning 
from  the  post  office,  brought  me  your  letter.  It 
may  have  been  there  a  week.  I  had  no  one  to 
send,  and  it  was  a  new  thing  to  have  a  friend  to 
think  of  me  when  asking  for  his  own  letters.  The 
kind  old  gentleman  had  observed  the  postmark, 
and,  having  understood  that  James  was  in  Mis- 
souri, supposing  it  to  be  from  him,  inquired  of  his 
health,  &c.  I  answered  that  he  was  well,  but  that 
N  2 


150  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

the  letter  was  from  you.  He  immediately  recol- 
lected the  name,  and  spoke  of  you  with  the  kind- 
ness of  an  old  and  partial  friend.  I  was  delighted 
to  hear  this,  and  told  him  you  had  given  me  reason 
to  expect  that  you  would  be  at  Craiganet  in  a  few 
weeks.  He  expressed  a  great  desire  to  see  you, 
and  requested  that  I  would  write  to  you  there  and 
beg  you  to  visit  him  as  soon  as  practicable.  He 
added,  that  he  would  at  once  have  a  room  pre- 
pared for  you  and  your  friend  Mr.  Napier,  and 
one  for  James  ;  and  charged  me  to  say  that  as  the 
days  are  short,  and  the  distance  almost  too  long 
for  a  day's  ride,  and  no  convenient  stopping-place 
by  the  way,  you  must  not  mind  coming  at  any 
hour  of  the  night  as  if  to  your  own  feme.  You 
cannot  have  forgotten  the  ways  about  this  neigh- 
bourhood ;  the  approach  and  grounds  around  the 
house  are  all  unchanged,  and  the  handle  of  the 
door  bell  is  just  where  it  was  when  Raby  Hall  was 
your  home.  Then,  too,  it  was  mine ! 

*  Ah,  happy  hills  !  ah,  pleasing  shade  ! 
Ah,  fields  beloved  in  vain  ! 

Where  once  my  careless  childhood  strayed; 
A  stranger  yet  to  pain.' 

Oh,  that  I  could  add, 

*  I  feel  the  gales  that  from  ye  blow, 
A  momentary  bliss  bestow ; 

As  waving  fresh  their  gladsome  wing, 
My  weary  soul  they  seem  to  sooth, 
And  redolent  of  joy  and  youth, 
To  breathe  a  second  spring*' 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  151 

But  this  can  never  be.  All  on  which  memory 
could  delight  to  dwell  is  shut  out  by  that  which 
*  eternity  forbids  me  to  forget.'  But  why  do  I 
speak  thus  repiningly  ?  By  comparison,  my  pres- 
ent condition  is  one  of  bliss.  And  does  not  hope 
now  dawn  on  me,  even  on  this  side  of  the  grave  ? 
The  hope  of  such  pleasures  as  my  heart  has  ever 
yearned  after ;  the  pleasure  springing  from  the 
approbation  of  the  good,  the  conversation  of  the 
wise,  the  society  of  the  refined  and  polite  ?  Oh  ! 
how  my  heart,  at  the  thought  of  seeing  you  again, 
leaps  up,  and  then  falls  humbled  in  the  dust,  at  the 
recollections  with  which  your  name  is  associated. 
But  I  will  not  offend  you  by  prating  about  my 
feelings.  One  only  you  must  give  me  leave  to 
express  in  such  language  as  I  can  command  :  the 
devoted,  heartfelt  gratitude  of — will  you  permit 
me  to  say? — your  friend, 


.on 


152  GEORGE  BALCOMBE. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Joy  shall  be  in  heaven,  over  one  sinner  that  repenteth,  more- 
than  over  ninety  and  nine  just  persons  that  need  no  repentance. 

ST.  LUKE. 

WHILE  I  read  this  long  letter,  Balcombe  amused 
himself  with  a  book.  When  I  had  got  through  I 
did  not  immediately  interrupt  him,  for  I  was  glad 
to  steal  a  moment  for  my  own  thoughts.  At 
length  I  remarked,  that  it  appeared  to  me  as  if  the 
present  posture  of  our  affairs  rendered  hurry  un- 
necessary f  and  that  we  might  safely  indulge  our- 
selves with  a  day  or  two  of  rest. 

"  Take  ^care,  William,"  said  Balcombe.  "  Re- 
member we  have  to  do  with  one  who  never  sleeps. 
I  know  it  is  not  sloth  that  would  keep  you  here  ; 
but  I  am  much  mistaken  if  your  absence  has  not 
already  served  you  better  than  your  presence 
could  have  done.  You  will  lose  nothing  by  a  dis- 
play of  energy  and  hope  of  success.  Make  that 
sure,  and  I  deceive  myself  if  you  don't  find  influ- 
ences exerted  in  your  favour  which  have  been 
heretofore  exerted  against  you." 

"  You  don't  mean,"  said  I,  "to  impute  mercenary 
feelings  to  Ann  I" 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


153 


"  By  no  means.  I  am  not  exactly  sure  of  my 
own  meaning,  nor  will  I  permit  myself  to  be  so, 
unless  I  become  convinced  that  my  thoughts  do 
no  wrong  to  others.  But  we  must  betake  our- 
selves to  rest,  for  the  way  is  long  to  Raby  Hall, 
and  we  must  sleep  there  to-morrow  night." 

He  now  left  me  and  went  to  his  room.  At  an 
early  hour  the  next  morning  we  were  in  the  saddle. 
The  day  was  pleasant  for  the  season,  but  the  roads 
were  deep,  and  we  got  on  but  slowly.  Night 
overtook  us  when  we  were  yet  ten  miles  from  the 
place  of  our  destination.  But  Balcombe  knew  the 
road,  and  we  had  a  new  moon,  which  promised  to 
give  light  until  we  should  be  within  the  compass 
of  his  former  daily  walks.  We  therefore  patiently 
toiled  along  over  ground  roughened  by  a  par- 
tial thaw,  which  made  it  difficult  for  our  weary 
horses  to  pick  their  way.  It  was  not  very  far 
from  midnight  when  we  reached  the  stables,  which 
were  perhaps  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  house. 
In  passing  these  we  met  a  negro  man,  of  whom 
Balcombe  inquired  if  Major  Swann  was  at  home. 
Being  answered  in  the  affirmative,  he  asked  the 
negro's  name. 

"  Charles,  sir,"  was  the  reply. 

"  What,  old  Amy's  son  Charles  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  how  is  your  mother,  Charles?" 

"  I  thank  you,  sir.  She  been  mighty  low  ;  but 
Miss  Mary  take  such  good  care  of  her,  she  right 
well  again  ;  only  just  she  mighty  old,  master." 


154 


GEORGE  BALCOMBE. 


"  And  are  you  hostler  here  still,  Charles  ?" 

"  Yes,  master.  But,  master,  I  don't  know  who 
you,  for  all  you  seems  to  know  all  about  us." 

"  Don't  you  know  my  voice,  Charles  ?  I  think  I 
should  know  your's.  Don't  you  remember  George 
Balcombe?" 

The  negro  clapped  his  hands,  and  springing  into 
the  air,  alighted  with  Balcombe's  hand  in  both  of 
his.  To  one  not  accustomed  to  the  negro  charac- 
ter, their  strong  attachments  and  grotesque  manner 
of  displaying  their  feelings,  the  contortions  of  his 
dusky  figure,  bowing  himself  on  Balcombe's  hand, 
then  swaying  his  body  back,  and  writhing  from 
side  to  side  like  a  wounded  serpent,  would  have 
been  amusing. 

"  Oh,  Mass  George,"  said  he,  "  I  so  glad  to  see 
you.  And  poor  Miss  Mary,  she  be  so  glad  to  see 
you  too,  sir." 

"  And  how  is  she,  Charles  ?" 

"  Oh,  thank  God !  she  right  well,  sir,  and  mighty 
comfortable.  Old  master  and  missis  here,  sir, 
mighty  good  to  her.  But  who  this  you  got  here 
with  you,  master?" 

"  This  is  Mr.  Napier,  Charles ;  your  old  mas- 
ter's grandson." 

"  What !"  exclaimed  the  negro, "  Mass  William  ! 
my  Miss  Fanny's  son !  Oh,  bless  God  I  live  to  see 
him." 

Then  turning  to  me  he  added,  in  a  plaintive  tone, 
"  Master,  I  been  afraid  you  never  was  coming  to 
see  your  poor  negroes,  now  we  don't  belong  to 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE,  155 

you  no  more,  but  all  gone  to  strange  man  that 
lives  away  there  in  England,  and  don't  care  no- 
thing at  all  about  us.  I  was  mightily  in  hopes  we'd 
all  have  gone  to  you,  sir ;  but  you's  my  master  for 
all  that." 

As  he  spoke  this  in  a  tone  of  reverential  affec- 
tion, I  held  out  my  hand  to  him.  He  took  it,  and 
drawing  it  strongly  downward  to  accommodate  it 
to  the  lowliness  of  his  prostration,  bowed  himself 
upon  it,  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips.  I  felt  a  tear 
upon  it ;  and  if  an  answering  tear  had  not  sprung 
to  my  eye,  I  should  have  little  deserved  to  be  the 
object  of  a  loyalty  as  ardent  and  devoted  as  it  was 
hopeless. 

"  If  you  are  as  tired  of  the  saddle  as  I  am,  Wil 
Ham,"  said  Balcombe,  "  you  will  not  be  sorry  to 
leave  our  horses  with  Charles,  and  walk  to  the 
house." 

I  gladly  assented  to  this;  and  Balcombe,  ad- 
dressing the  negro,  added, 

"  Charles,  my  good  fellow,  take  care  of  our  little 
baggage,  and  bring  it  up  to  the  house." 

Saying  this,  he  alighted,  and  we  walked  on,  both 
too  busy  with  our  own  thoughts  for  conversation. 
As  we  approached  the  house,  we  saw  a  dusky  red 
light  glimmer  fitfully  from  between  the  bars  of  a 
cellar  window.  Just  as  we  were  about  to  enter, 
it  flashed  up  brighter  than  before,  and  we  saw  that 
it  came  from  the  wall  beneath  a  window  at  the 
end  of  the  house.  Balcombe  instantly  turned 
aside  and  dashed  around  the  corner.  Immediately 


156  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

I  heard  a  rush,  and  the  noise  of  feet  clattering  over 
the  frozen  ground.  I  followed,  and  saw  a  man 
leap  the  enclosure  of  the  yard,  and  Balcombe,  who 
was  almost  near  enough  to  touch  him,  drew  a 
pistol  and  fired  it. 

Without  stopping  to  see  the  effect  of  his  shot,  he 
returned  hastily,  and  running  to  the  door,  rang  the 
bell  violently.  The  shot  had  alarmed  the  family, 
and  the  door  was  presently  opened.  He  immedi- 
ately gave  the  alarm  of  fire  in  the  cellar,  and 
snatching  a  can  of  water  which  stood,  as  he  well 
remembered,  on  a  three  cornered  shelf  just  within 
the  door,  ran  to  the  window  and  poured  it  in.  The 
light  went  down  immediately,  and  servants  going 
into  the  cellar  presently  extinguished  the  fire.  We 
now  saw  that  it  was  a  wood  cellar,  with  a  quan- 
tity of  wood  directly  under  the  window.  On  this, 
burning  coals  had  been  thrown,  and  some  shavings 
and  splinters  of  dry  pine  wood  had  been  added. 
A  part  of  these  combustibles  still  lay  in  a  pile  on 
the  outside  of  the  window. 

Mr.  Swann  now  appeared  in  his  nightgown,  and 
Balcombe  made  himself  known.  He  was  a  fine- 
looking  old  gentleman,  venerable,  dignified,  and 
courteous.  We  were  received  with  great  cor- 
diality, and  ushered  into  a  parlour,  yet  comfortable 
with  the  glowing  embers  of  the  evening  fire.  Here 
the  old  gentleman,  having  ordered  some  refresh- 
ments, left  us  to  dress  himself.  He  soon  returned, 
accompanied  by  his  wife,  who  seemed  to  be  among 
ladies  just  what  he  was  among  gentlemen.  She 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  157 

added  her  welcome  to  his ;  and  we  would  have 
gone  at  once  to  bed,  but  supper  was  pressed  on 
us  so  earnestly,  and  so  strongly  recommended  by 
our  own  appetites,  that  we  could  not  decline  it. 

In  the  mean  time,  James,  having  inquired  for  his 
sister,  had  been  conducted  to  her  room.  She  had 
been  reading,  and  was  not  yet  gone  to  bed.  Their 
meeting  no  one  witnessed  ;  but  she  soon  left  him 
alone  to  his  grief  and  came  to  see  Balcombe.  We 
were  all  standing  when  she  entered.  She  looked 
hastily  around,  and  then  approached  him  with  an 
eagerness  of  manner  which,  for  the  moment,  re- 
stored something  of  the  brilliancy  of  countenance 
I  had  remarked  in  the  picture.  He  advanced  to 
meet  her,  when  she  suddenly  stopped  short,  and 
with  a  look  of  utter  abasement  fell  on  her  knees, 
and  bowed  her  head  to  his  very  feet.  Her  action 
was  characterized  by  her  own  words.  Her  heart 
had  leaped  up,  and  then  fell  prostrate  in  the  dust. 
Balcombe  raised  her  with  some  difficulty,  and 
rather  lifted  than  led  her  to-  a  sofa,  against  the  arm 
of  which  she  hid  her  face  and  wept  in  silence. 
Balcombe  bent  over  her  tenderly,  and  holding  her 
hand,  said  soothingly,  "  Dear  Mary !  My  dear, 
good  girl !"  and  continued  thus  to  utter  tones  and 
words  which  spoke  comfort  to  her  heart,  until  she 
became  more  composed.  She  then  looked  up,  and 
gazing  on  him  with  an  expression  of  timid  affec- 
tion, pressed  his  hand  to  her  lips,  and  having  dis- 
engaged her  own,  cast  down  her  eyes  and  re- 
mained silent. 

VOL.  II. O 


158  GEORGE  BALCOMBE. 

If  ever  Divine  mercy  forgave  a  single  error  to 
deep  repentance  and  contrition  ;  if  ever  the  voice 
of  God  spoke  audibly  to  the  sinner's  heart,  saying, 
''Neither  do  I  condemn  thee  ;"  surely  at  that  mo- 
ment such  consolation  was  not  withheld  from 
hers. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  field  through  which  the 
incendiary  had  escaped  was  searched,  to  ascertain 
the  effect  of  Balcombe's  shot.  Nothing  was  found, 
and  we  concluded  that  he  had  got  off  unhurt. 

"I  don't  think  I  struck  him,"  said  Balcombe. 
"If  I  did,  it  was  somewhere  about  the  right  shoul- 
der. Firing  over  the  wall,  I  could  not  well  bring 
my  pistol  to  bear." 

"  It  was  well  for  the  fellow,"  said  John,  "  that 
something  hindered  you,  for  it  an't  often  that  you 
miss." 

Much  conversation  now  ensued  between  Major 
and  Mrs.  Swann  about  the  attempt  to  burn  the 
house,  and  they  seemed  quite  at  a  loss  to  guess 
who  the  incendiary  could  be.  At  length  we 
retired  for  the  night.  As  the  ladies  were  about 
to  leave  the  room,  Balcombe  took  Mary's  hand, 
and  drawing  her  gently  to  him,  passed  his  arm 
around  her  waist  and  was  about  to  kiss  her.  At 
first  she  turned  up  her  lips  to  him ;  and  then 
suddenly  averting  her  face  and  interposing  her 
hand,  said, 

I    "  No,  George,  no  !  let  that  remain.     I  would  die 
with  that  on  my  lips." 

He  only  answered  by  pressing  her  tenderly  to- 


GEORGE   BALCOMBE.  159 

his  bosom  and  kissing  her  forehead.  I  think  I 
never  saw  any  man  so  affected  as  Major  Swann 
was,  when,  after  she  had  left  the  room,  Balcombe 
told  him  the  meaning  of  her  words. 

As  soon  as  the  servant  had  left  us  in  our  cham- 
ber, Balcombe  said  to  me, 

"  That  was  Montague." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  said  I. 

"  I  mean,"  he  replied,  "  that  it  was  Montague 
who  attempted  to  burn  the  house  down.  The 
stature  and  figure  were  his,  and  an  exclamation 
uttered  as  I  laid  my  hand  upon  the  fugitive  was  in 
his  voice." 

"  Did  you  seize  him  ?"  said  I. 

"  No ;  I  did  but  touch  him,  and  at  the  moment 
stumbled  and  fell.  He  was  near  the  Avail  and 
over  it  before  I  could  well  recover.  But  I  think  I 
have  disabled  him  for  mischief  for  a  few  days." 

'*  How  so  ?" 

"  Firing  hastily,"  said  he,  "  the  trigger  may  give 
way  too  soon.  But  I  seldom  fail  to  know  where 
my  ball  goes.  I  am  deceived  if  he  has  it  not  in 
his  right  arm  or  shoulder." 

'*  But  what  could  be  his  motive  ?" 

"  Motive  !  Don't  you  see  that  had  we  not 
arrived  the  fire  must  have  advanced  so  far  before 
it  was  discovered  as  to  make  it  impossible  to  save 
anything ;  and  his  worthy  employer  would  doubt- 
less be  willing  to  forgive  the  destruction  of  the 
house  for  the  destruction  of  the  will.  As  to  Mon- 
tague's conscience,  arson  is  not  mentioned  in  the 


160  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

decalogue  ;  and  if  this  good  old  man  and  his  wife, 
and  Mary  and  old  Amy  had  been  burned  alive,  why, 
that  would  have  been  chargeable  to  Providence, 
not  to  him.  He  would  calm  himself  by  saying  it 
was  no  part  of  his  plan,  and  would  not  have  hap- 
pened had  not  God  so  willed  it.  However,  I  think 
the  rascal  has  had  a  taste  of  my  pistol ;  and  if  he 
is  not  disabled  for  the  time,  he  will  'hardly  come 
about  the  premises  while  he  knows  that  I  am 
here." 

The  next  day  we  took  some  pains  to  learn  what 
had  become  of  Montague,  but  could  hear  nothing 
of  him  since  the  day  that  the  room  of  Mary  Scott 
was  searched. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

"  Shall  I  not  love  her, 

When  disease  has  pressed  my  wasted  form,  and  bowed 
My  fainting  head,  who  has  supported  it  1 
Who  has  kindly  bound  my  aching  brow, 
And  wooed  my  loathing  taste  with  dainty  food  ? 
And  when  fierce  fever  dried  the  springs  of  life, 
And  my  parched  breast  gave  to  my  wailing  babe 
No  nourishment,  who  fed  him  from  her  own  1" 

THIS  day  happened  to  be  Sunday.  About  noon 
I  observed  that  the  yard  was  full  of  negroes,  each 
"  clad  in  his  Sunday's  best."  The  old  gentleman 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  161 

observed  it,  and  expressing  some  surprise  at  it, 
went  out  to  inquire  the  cause.  Returning,  he 
said, 

"  I  find  that  they  are  assembled  to  see  you,  Mr. 
Napier,  and  you  will  gratify  the  poor  creatures  by 
going  out  among  them." 

I  did  so,  and  every  eye  was  fixed  upon  me. 
Some  saw  a  likeness  to  my  grandfather,  some  to 
my  mother.  One  by  one  they  approached  me ; 
and  as  I  extended  my  hand  to  each,  each  bowed 
himself  with  reverence  and  affection  before  me ;, 
the  expression  only  varying  in  each,  as  it  seemed,, 
with  the  character  of  the  individual.  The  few; 
words  they  uttered  corresponded  with  those  senti- 
ments. They  obviously  restrained  themselves  in 
the  presence  of  Mr.  Edward  Raby's  steward, 
though  the  old  gentleman  was  much  moved  at  the 
quiet  expression  of  their  feelings  of  hereditary 
loyalty.  When  we  returned  into  the  house,  he  re- 
marked on  the  universality  of  that  sentiment 
among  them,  saying  he  had  no  doubt  they  would 
be  worth  twenty  per  cent,  more  to  me  than  to 
any  other  person. 

"Nothing  is  more  certain,"  said  Balcombe, 
"  and  nothing  more  natural  than  the  prevalence  of 
this  feeling.  Here  is  a  race  of  men  incapable  of 
tracing  themselves  beyond  ancestors  who,  a  hun- 
dred years  ago,  came  out  of  a  slave  ship  into  the 
family  of  Mr.  Raby.  They  know  nothing  of  them- 
selves but  in  connection  with  that  family,  and  that 
connection  has  become,  by  tradition  and  u^e,  to  be 
o2 


162  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

regarded  as  one  of  the  conditions  of  their  very 
existence.  Meantime,  under  the  influence  of  the 
kindly  affections  growing  out  of  this  connection, 
there  has  been  a  gradual  though  steady  improve- 
ment in  their  situation.  Every  old  negro  can  tell 
the  young  how  much  has  been  added  to  the  com- 
forts of  their  common  lot,  and  even  those  of  a  mid- 
dle age  can  remember  a  change  in  their  own. 
Here  is  cause  of  gratitude  ;  and  to  man  uncor- 
rupted  by  unpurchased  prosperity,  gratitude  is  a 
natural  sentiment.  Benefits  conferred  sparingly, 
and  in  requital  of  merit  and  exertion,  never  fail  to 
excite  it.  This  is  Cod's  plan  for  securing  the  hearts 
of  his  creatures.  They  who  win  their  bread,  though 
scanty,  with  the  sweat  of  their  brow,  eat  it  and 
give  thanks.  They  on  whom  the  good  things  of 
this  world  descend  in  showers  of  abundance, 
sicken  over  their  full  meal,  and  murmur  at  the 
Being  who  gave  the  food  without  the  appetite 
which  toil  should  purchase. 

"  Individual  attachments,  too,  spring  up.  The 
negro  woman  loves  the  child  she  nursed  ;  he  loves 
his  foster-brother  and  is  beloved  in  turn  ;  and  all 
the  little  woolly-headed  urchins  love  the  young 
master,  whose  favours  they  continually  experience. 
These  things  produce  a  feeling  not  unlike  that  of 
Scottish  clanship.  The  tie  of  blood,  indeed,  is  want- 
ing in  this  case,  but  so  it  often  is  in  that.  But  long 
habitude  supplies  the  place.  These  negroes  are 
accustomed  to  consider  themselves  of  the  Raby 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  163 

family,  and  William,  the  head  of  the  house,  is  their 
Vich  Ian  Vohr. 

"  A  little  anecdote,"  continued  Balcombe,  "  will 
well  illustrate  the  inextinguishable  affection  of  the 
negro  for  his  master.  A  young  friend  of  mine, 
whose  father  lived  on  James  River,  was  called  by 
business  to  St.  Domingo.  Walking  along  the 
streets  of  Port-au-Prince,  his  hand  was  suddenly 
caught  between  both  hands  of  a  well-dressed  ne- 
gro. You  know  the  grotesque  attitude  with  which 
a  negro,  when  much  delighted,  accompanies  this 
action — springing  into  the  air,  alighting  with  his 
feet  a  yard  apart,  and  squatting  nearly  to  the 
ground.  So  it  was  in  this  instance,  while  he  ex- 
claimed, 

"  *  Lord  God  Almighty  !  Mass'  Ned  !  this  you  T 
"  My  friend  immediately  recognised  him  as  one 
who  had  run  away  from  his  father  a  few  years 
before,  and  was  sincerely  glad  to  see  him.  The 
negro  insisted  on  taking  him  home — would  hear 
of  no  refusal — and  entertained  him  sumptuously 
during  his  stay  at  Port-au-Prince.  During  the 
whole  time  the  negro  had  no  name  for  him  but 
*  Mass'  Ned.'  He  was  a  merry  and  vain  fellow. 
Just  before  he  ran  away  his  young  master  had  re- 
ceived an  ensign's  commission  in  the  militia,  and 
bought  a  splendid  uniform.  This  had  taken  Cuf- 
fy's  fancy,  and  one  of  the  first  aspirations  of  his 
recovered  freedom  was  a  like  distinction.  In  this 
he  had  been  so  successful  as  to  have  the  right  to 
wear  two  epaulets.  Of  these  he  was  very  proud  ^ 


164  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

and  recollecting  the  commencement  of  Mass'  Ned's 
military  career,  he  suddenly  asked, 

"  '  Mass'  Ned,  what  rank  you  now  V 

" { I  am  a  captain,'  said  my  friend. 

"  *  Oh  Lord  !'  cried  the  negro,  exultingly, '  I  rank 
you  all  to  hell ! — I  major.' 

"  It  seems  strange,  too,"  said  I,  "  that  a  natural 
impatience  of  inferiority  does  not  exacerbate  the 
feelings  of  these  poor  creatures,  and  especially 
against  the  particular  individuals  by  whom  they 
are  kept  under." 

"  It  would  be  so,"  said  Balcombe,  "  if  that  infe- 
riority were  in  condition  only.  But,  right  or  wrong, 
they  feel  themselves  inferior  in  point  of  fact,  and 
there  is  therefore  nothing  to  prevent  the  formation 
of  that  strong  tie  which  is  spun  out  of  the  inter- 
change of  service  and  protection.  This,  apart 
from  the  instinct  of  blood,  is  the  rationale  of  the 
filial  and  parental  bond.  So  long  as  the  inferior- 
ity is  actual,  and  felt  to  be  so,  none  but  affection- 
ate and  loyal  feelings  grow  out  of  it.  Whether 
the  negro  race  is  inferior  to  the  white  is  not  the 
question.  The  inferiority  of  the  individual  is  the 
thing,  and  this  inferiority,  left  to  himself,  he  will 
never  question.  What  may  be  the  result  if  the 
amis  des  noirs  succeed  in  eradicating  their  sense 
of  this,  and  substituting  in  place  of  it  a  theory  of 
equality  which  is  to  abolish  all  distinctions,  natural 
as  well  as  artificial,  actual  as  well  as  imaginary,  is 
a  question  which  their  philanthropy  might  do  well 
to  consider.  That  it  will  make  them  better  or 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  165 

wiser  I  must  be  permitted  to  doubt.  That  it  will 
make  them  miserable  is  sure.  For  my  part  I 
am  well  pleased  with  the  established  order  of  the 
universe.  I  see  gradations  in  everything.  I  see 
subordination  everywhere.  And  when  I  find  the 
subordinate  content  with  his  actual  condition,  and 
recognising  his  place  in  the  scale  of  being  as  that 
to  which  he  properly  belongs,  I  am  content  to 
leave  him  there.  If  I  raise  him  from  his  place, 
some  other  must  fall  into  it,  and  I  cannot  be  sure 
that  the  other  will  be  equally  fitted  for  its  duties, 
or  equally  happy  in  their  performance.  The  diffi- 
culty you  have,  William,  in  conceiving  how  a  man 
can  sit  down  contented  in  established  inferiority, 
shows  that  the  lesson  is  hard  to  learn.  Yet,  to  be 
happy  in  this  condition,  which  some  must  submit  to-, 
this  lesson  must  have  been  learned,  hard  as  it  is. 
Now,  I  don't  see  the  wisdom  of  making  this  learn- 
ing useless  to  those  who  have  been  acquiring  it 
from  infancy,  and  setting  others  to  the  same  lesson 
who  are  too  old  to  go  to  school.  Would  it  be  pos- 
sible, at  this  time  of  day,  to  imbue  your  mind  with 
the  feeling  which  last  night  bowed  the  head  of 
Charles  upon  your  hand  ?  By  no  means.  Yet, 
do  you  doubt  the  sincerity  of  that  feeling  ?  and  do 
you, not  see  how  highly  conducive  to  his  happiness 
it  would  be  if  you  were  his  master?  Will  you 
shut  your  eyes  to  this  because  you  cannot  con- 
ceive of  that  state  of  mind.  Do  you  wonder  that 
you  cannot  conceive  what  sort  of  an  animal  you 
would  have  been,  if  you  had  been  born  a  slave  ?" 


166 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


"But,"  said  I,  "is  it  not  worth  while  to  risk 
something  for  the  sake  of  elevating  this  race  in  a 
moral  point  of  view  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  he.  "  The  only  question  is,  what 
is  moral  elevation.  Do  you  find  it  in  the  burning 
crown  of  Lucifer,  or  in  the  humility  of  the  angels 
who  cast  their  crowns  at  the  feet  of  God?  Is 
there  nothing  analogous  to  this  last  in  the  prostra- 
tion of  that  poor  negro's  spirit  last  night  before 
you,  from  whom  he  can  neither  expect  harm  nor 
good,  and  whom  he  did  but  identify  with  the  au- 
thors of  bygone  benefits  magnified  by  his  gratitude 
to  a  debt  which  his  spirit  yearns  to  discharge  to 
you.  Is  gratitude  abject?  Is  self-abandoning, 
zealous  devotion  abject?  If  the  duties  of  heaven 
require  these  sentiments,  and  its  happiness  con- 
sist in  their  exercise,  which  of  us  is  it  that  is  but 
a  little  lower  than  the  angels — the  negro  or  the 
white  man  ?  No,  William.  Let  women  and  ne- 
groes alone,  and  instead  of  quacking  with  them, 
physic  your  own  diseases.  Leave  them  in  their 
humility,  their  grateful  affection,  their  self-renounc- 
ing loyalty,  their  subordination  of  the  heart,  and 
let  it  be  your  study  to  become  worthy  to  be  the 
object  of  these  sentiments." 

"  My  own  observation,"  said  Major  Swann, 
"  corresponds  with  your  ideas.  When  you  knew 
me,  George,  I  was  or  seemed  to  be  wealthy  and 
had  many  slaves.  All  have  been  taken  from  me. 
Yet  while  I  remained  in  the  same  neighbourhood, 
they  never  missed  an  opportunity  to  serve  me  in 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  167 

any  way  in  their  power.  There  was  hardly  one 
among  them  who  did  not  force  favours  of  some 
sort  on  me,  when  I  could  make  no  return ;  and,  if 
I  would  have  suffered  it,  they  would  have  devoted 
to  me  at  least  half  their  waking  hours  not  spent 
in  labouring  for  their  master.  The  world,  I  be- 
lieve, gave  me  credit  for  hospitality  and  benevo- 
lence. I  am  not  going  to  quarrel  with  these  things, 
or  to  begin,  as  too  many  do,  by  repenting  of  my 
few  good  qualities ;  but  how  much  better  would  I 
have  shown  my  benevolence,  by  husbanding  the 
means  of  keeping  these  poor  creatures  together, 
under  the  light  and  easy  yoke  of  a  master  whom 
they  loved  to  serve.  There,  as  you  suggest,  is  the 
point  in  which  we  fail.  Instead  of  initiating  them 
in  the  code  of  a  false  and  spurious  philosophy,  did 
we  look  into  our  own  hearts  and  watch  narrowly 
our  own  actions,  we  should  effectually  preserve 
that  superiority  over  them,  on  a  deep  and  abiding 
sense  of  which  their  happiness  depends  ;  and,  by 
a  prudent  management  of  our  affairs,  we  might 
give  permanency  and  efficiency  to  that  protection, 
for  which  their  labour  is,  as  they  feel  it  to  be-,  a  fair 
equivalent." 

Here,  again,  I  would  jiot  have  the  reader  to 
believe  that  I  was  convinced  because  I  did  not  take 
up  the  argument  with  so  sturdy  a  disputant  as  Bal- 
combe,  or  contest  the  inferences  drawn  by  a  ven- 
erable old  man  from  his  own  experience.  I  have 
set  down  here  the  thoughts  of  these  gentlemen,  be- 
cause they  were  new  to  me,  and  I  have  never  yet 


168  GEORGE    BALCOMBE, 

seen  them  in  print.  I  do  not  add  my  own,  partly 
because  I  am  not  writing  essays,  and  partly  be- 
cause all  I  could  say  on  my  side  of  the  question, 
has  been  better  said  by  others,  and  is  before  the 
world. 


CHAPTER    XVI.  WiJKr. 

"  Such  is  the  game  of  life.     The  fox's  craft, 
And  the  fierce  instinct  of  the  patient  hound, 
Are  both  from  Him  whose  works  inscrutable 
Show  not  to  which  he  leans." 

BALCOMBE'S  tongue  was  now  loosened,  and  he 
talked  with  all  his  wonted  spirit  and*  animation, 
but  restraining  himself  so  far  as  to  make  the  major 
a  fair  partaker  in  the  conversation.  James  and 
Mary  sat  by  in  silence,  the  latter  swallowing  his 
words  .with  a  greediness  surpassing  even  that  of 
Mrs.  Balcombe  herself.  Her  excited  feelings  and 
greater  readiness  of  apprehension,  made,  as  I  sup- 
posed, this  difference.  It  was  only  in  her  counte- 
nance that  I  saw  any  token  of  the  powers  of  mind 
of  which  Balcombe  had  spoken,  and  which  her 
letters  displayed.  She  seemed  restrained  rather 
by  humility  than  by  diffidence  or  modesty.  She 
scarcely  ever  spoke  that  a  blush  did  not  suffuse  her 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  169 

whole  face  immediately  after.  It  seemed  as  if  a 
feeling  within  rebuked  her  presumption,  and  what 
she  feared  might  be  an  abuse  of  the  forbearance  of 
her  friends.  The  day  passed  rationally  and  pleas- 
antly, and  was  to  us  weary  travellers  a  day  of 
welcome  rest. 

There  was  no  longer  anything  to  agitate  or  ex- 
cite in  the  difficulties  with  which  we  had  to  con- 
tend. We  therefore  passed  that  subject  by  for  the 
day,  and  though  my  thoughts  would  wander  to 
Ann  at  times,  and  again  would  pry  into  the  possi- 
ble contents  of  that  mysterious  packet,  I  trust  the 
day  was  passed  essentially  as  the  Sabbath  should 
be.  I  found  myself  again  restored  to  a  trusting 
confidence  in  Providence,  and  a  thorough  convert 
to  Balcombe's  doctrine  that  the  difficulties  which 
we  encounter  in  life  are  so  much  unrecompensed 
evil,  if  we  do  not  lay  them  to  heart  and  study  out 
the  hidden  wisdom  with  which  they  are  fraught. 
I  was  sure  I  was  a  wiser,  and  I  trust  a  better  man 
for  the  use  he  had  taught  me  to  make  of  my  trials. 

The  next  day  was  spent  in  consulting  about  our 
ulterior  measures,  and  the  result  of  our  consulta- 
tion was  that  I  should  go  to  Fredericksburg  and 
take  the  advice  of  a  lawyer  on  the  subject  of  the 
supposed  will.  I  would  gladly  have  had  Bal- 
combe's  company,  which  now  began  to  seem  a 
necessary  of  life  to  me,  but  he  suggested  that 
Montague's  late  attempt  made  it  necessary  to  keep 
an  eye  upon  him.  If  in  the  neighbourhood,  he 
would  know  that  Balcombe  and  Keizer  were  there, 

VOL.    II. — P 


170  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

and  his  habitual  dread  of  them  would  keep  him  in 
check  more  effectually  than  anything  else. 

"This  last  attempt/'  said  Balcombe,  "shows 
that  he  is  becoming  desperate.  Nothing  but 
phrensy  would  make  him  risk  the  halter." 

I  therefore  determined  to  go  alone.  Indeed  it 
was  time  I  should  act  the  man  once  more,  and 
attend  to  my  own  affairs  ;  but  Balcombe's  quick- 
ness, perspicacity,  and  resources,  had  given  me 
such  a  habit  of  depending  on  him,  that  I  found 
myself  hardly  able  to  walk  without  leadingstrings. 
This  rendered  the  effort  the  more  necessary,  and 
I  resolved  to  make  it. 

"  Before  you  go,"  said  Balcombe,  "  it  may  be  as 
well  to  try  if  we  cannot  come  at  our  object  by  a 
shorter  road.  Montague  cannot  be  far  off,  and  if 
by  any  chance  I  can  once  lay  my  eye  upon  him, 
I  should  know  how  to  manage  the  matter  at 
once." 

"  What  would  yo«  do  ?"  said  I. 

"Cast  a  spell  upon  him,"  replied  Balcombe, 
"  and  bring  him  here ;  give  him  the  packet,  and 
make  him  open  it  with  his  own  hands,  and  put  the 
will  into  mine." 

"  This  is  a  strange  power  you  exercise  over 
him." 

"  It  is  partly  habit,"  said  Balcombe,  "  and  partly 
the  power  of  circumstances.  He  can  hardly  have 
heard  of  my  arrival.  He  had  no  means  of  recog- 
nising me  on  Saturday  night.  He  probably  thinks 
me  hanged  by  this  time  in  Missouri,  and  would 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


171 


take  me  for  my  own  ghost.  Recollecting  his  at- 
tempts against  me,  his  fears  would  hardly  be 
relieved  (superstitious  as  he  is)  by  finding  me  a 
being  of  flesh  and  blood  ;  and  a  braver  man  than 
he  would  cower  under  my  eye  at  such  a  moment. 
Besides,  I  have  but  to  hint  at  the  fire,  and  he  would 
have  no  doubt  that  I  was  prepared  to  swear  to  his 
identity  and  bring  him  to  the  gallows.  Indeed,  if, 
as  I  suspect,  I  have  set  my  mark  upon  him,  1  should 
have  little  scruple  to  speak  so  decisively  as  to  put 
his  neck  in  some  jeopardy.  To  escape  this  he 
would  not  hesitate  to  give  up  the  will.  It  may 
perhaps  be  as  well  therefore  to  defer  your  journey 
for  a  day  or  two,  and  let  us  see  if  John  cannot 
strike  his  trail.  Mr.  Raby  bears  your  grand- 
father's name,  William ;  we  must  not  dishonour 
that,  if  it  can  be  avoided.  Let  us  recover  the  will, 
and  we  shall  have  no  occasion  to  go  to  law  for  the 
purpose  of  obtaining  justice  ;  and  no  one  here  or 
in  England  will  suspect  how  we  came  by  it.  He 
will  take  care  not  to  ask,  and  to  hush  inquiry  by 
expressing  himself  to  be  entirely  satisfied." 

John  was  now  summoned,  and  asked  if  he  saw 
which  way  the  incendiary  ran. 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,"  said  he.  "  You  see  I  hadn't  no 
notion  the  house  was  afire,  and  I  wasn't  thinking 
of  nothing  but  him.  So  I  run  just  because  I  seed 
you  run,  and  the  minute  you  fired  I  jumped  on  the 
wall,  and  there  I  sot  and  looked  at  him  till  I  heard 
the  cry  of  £  fire.'  I  seed  him  just  as  plain  as  I  see 
you,  and  I  had  my  rifle,  and  could  have  fetched 


172  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

him  down  mighty  handy,  but  then  I  did  not  know 
who  he  was  nor  what  he  had  done.  I  seed  which 
way  he  went  plain  enough." 

"  And  have  you  any  notion  who  it  was,  John  V 

"  Lord  !  no,  sir.  I  don't  know  nobody  in  these 
parts." 

"  Yes  you  do,  John.  What  do  you  think  of 
Montague  V9 

"  The  dear  Lord !"  said  John,  with  a  start. 
"  You  don't  think  it  was  him,  colonel  ?  I  God !  if 
I  had  thought  that  I'd  have  fixed  him  for  slow  trav- 
elling." 

"I  do  suspect  it  was  he,  John,"  said  Balcombe  ; 
"and  I  want  you  to  find  out  what  has  become  of 
him." 

"  He's  got  two  days  start,"  said  John ;  "  and  if 
he  has  any  notion  we  are  here,  he's  a  good  way  off 
before  now."  * r- 

"  I  dare  say,"  replied  Balcombe  ;  "  but  he  has 
no  chance  to  know  that ;  and  besides  I  suspect 
that  I  fixed  him  for  slow  travelling,  as  you  call  it, 
myself,  though  not  so  effectually  as  you  would 
have  done." 

"  Why,  you  don't  think  you  hit  him,  colonel  ?" 

"Yes,  I  do.  My  pistol  went  off  too  soon,  but 
the  ball  did  not  go  far  from  his  right  shoulder." 

"  I  God !  colonel,  if  you  think  you  hit  him,  I'm 
pretty  sure  you  did  ;  'cause  you  an't  apt  to  send 
a  ball  and  not  know  where  it's  gone  to.  If  he's 
got  a  slug  of  lead  in  him  just  to  stop  his  headway, 
I  an't  so  sure  but  what  I  could  run  him  down." 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  173 

"  I  am  sure  you  can,?  said  Balcombe.  "  And  as 
there  are  neither  deer  nor  Indians  here  to  amuse 
you,  you  may  as  well  take  a  turn  to  hunt  for  this 
fellow." 

"  That  I  will,"  said  John  ;  "  but  it's  well  for  the 
folks  in  our  country  that  the  deer  an't  half  so  scary 
and  the  Indians  an't  half  so  cunning  as  he  is.  I 
only  wish  I  had  him  in  the  prairie  or  a  cane  brake, 
I'd  know  what  to  do  him  there.  But  here  in  the 
settlements  I  am  mightily  afraid  he'll  dodge  me. 
Anyhow,  I  can  but  take  my  rifle,  and  if  I  can't 
do  nothing  else,  I  can  burst  the  heads  of  a  few 
squirrels." 

"Well,  John,"  said  Balcombe,  "remember  by 
all  means  not  to  let  him  see  you." 

"  I'll  take  care  of  that,  sir ;  but  if  he  was  to  see 
me,  with  these  things  on,  I  reckon  he'd  hardly 
know  me,  unless  he  was  near  enough  to  look  me 
right  in  the  eye.  If  I  know  myself  it's  as  much." 

John  went  off,  and  did  not  return  till  night.  As 
soon  as  we  retired  he  came  to  our  room. 

"  Well,  John,"  said  Balcombe,  "  what  luck  ?" 

"  Pretty  good,  I'm  a  thinking,"  replied  the 
other. 

"  Did  you  see  Montague  ?" 

"  No,  sir.  I  didn't  want  to  see  him,  because  I 
didn't  want  him  to  see  me  ;  but  I  think  I've  found 
out  where  he  is." 

"  Well,  come,  John,"  said  Balcombe, "  tell  us  all 
about  it." 

"  Well,  sir,  you  see  I  went  in  the  field,  and  I 
p  2 


174  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

took  my  course  just  the  way  I  saw  him  running ; 
and  I  looked  for  a  track,  but  the  ground  was  too 
hard  frozen  that  night.  Well,  I  kept  on,  and  I 
thought  maybe  I  might  see  some  sign  where  he  got 
over  the  fence.  So  when  I  got  to  the  fence,  sir,  I 
looked  all  along  at  every  pannel  as  close  as  if  I 
had  been  looking  for  Indian  sign,  and  at  last  I 
comes  to  the  place  where  he  got  over." 

"  How  did  you  know  it,  John?" 

"  By  the  blood,  sir.  There  was  a  good  many 
drops  of  blood  on  the  fence,  and  there  was  a  large 
flat  rail  at  top,  and  there  was  the  mark  of  his  whole 
hand  as  he  got  over,  all  bloody  ;  all  the  four  fingers 
and  the  thumb  too.  And  sure  enough,  as  you  say, 
it  was  the  right  hand.  So  I  gets  over  the  fence, 
and  looks  sharp  t'other  side,  where  the  briers  looked 
mashed  down,  almost  as  if  he  had  fallen  on  them  ; 
and  I  do  suppose  he  had,  for  just  there  right  close 
to  the  fence  there  was  a  smart  chance  of  blood, 
that  looked  as  if  he  had  laid  there  some  time.  So 
you  see  I  made  pretty  sure  that  he  wasn't  gone 
far.  So  I  keeps  right  on  pretty  much  the  same 
course,  and  looked  sharp  for  blood,  but  I  couldn't 
see  none  ;  and  after  a  while  I  comes  to  a  right  big 
road.  So  then  you  see,  colonel,  I  did  not  know 
rightly  which  end  of  the  road  to  take,  'cause  I 
come  into  it  right  square.  If  I  had  come  into  it 
sorter  slantindickler  like,  I'd  have  known  what  to 
do.  But  it  wasn't  no  use  standing  there,  so  I  starts 
on  the  way  my  head  happened  to  stand.  There 
wasn't  no  occasion  to  be  in  any  hurry,  'cause,  you 


GEOUGE    BALCOMBE.  175 

if.   •  ifc 

see,  I  knowed  if  Montague  wasn't  clean  off  before 
then  he  must  be  pretty  close  by,  and  could  not  get 
away  directly.  So  I  sees  a  squirrel,  and  I  downs 
him,  and  picks  him  up  and  goes  along.  Lord!  I 
could  hardly  help  laughing  to  think  of  me  going 
along  with  a  squirrel  in  my  hand,  like  he  was  worth 
taking  home  ;  and  I  reckon  if  all  the  carcasses  of 
deer,  and  elk,  and  buffalo,  that  I  have  left  in  the 
prairies  after  I  took  their  jackets  off,  were  here, 
some  of  these  tallow-faced  poor  devils  that  I  see 
about  would  get  right  fat.  But  I  hear  'em  say 
that  everything  that  has  life  will  do  to  keep  life, 
and  I  thought  somebody  would  be  glad  of  the 
squirrel  in  this  scarce  country,  so  I  just  walks 
along  the  road  with  him  in  my  hand. 

"  So  I  walked  a  good  smart  bit,  and  seed  nothing 
but  poor  land  and  pine  woods,  till  at  last  I  meets  a 
man.  And  he  had  a  string  of  wild  ducks  in  his 
hand,  and  a  monstrous  great  gun  on  his  shoulder, 
big  enough  to  swallow  my  rifle,  stock,  lock,  and 
barrel.  So  I  stops  him  for  a  talk,  and  I  axed 
where  he  killed  so  many  ducks.  And  he  tells  me 
down  in  a  place  I  most  think  he  called  it  a  Pocoson. 
(I  never  heard  of  any  such  place  before.)  And 
with  that  he  looks  at  the  squirrel,  and  he  sees  his 
head  all  smashed,  and  he  just  thought  I  had  done 
it  with  a  rock ;  and  he  axed  me  what  I  did  that 
for,  '  'cause,'  said  he,  *  the  brains  is  amazing  good/ 
And  then  I  telPd  him  how  'twas,  and  that  I  never 
hit  'em  anywhere  else,  and  he  looks  at  my  rifle, 
and  maybe  it  did  not  astonish  him.  So  then  he 


176  GEORGE  BALCOMBE. 

looks  at  his  ducks,  and  he  finds  one  little  bit  of  a 
thing,  it  wasn't  much  bigger  than  a  partridge,  and 
he  looks  at  it,  and  then  he  looks  at  the  squirrel,  and 
then  at  the  duck  again,  and  at  last  says  he, 

" '  I'll  give  you  this  here  teal  for  that  squirrel.' 

"  *  You  are  heartily  welcome  to  the  squirrel/ 
says  I. 

"  Then  he  looked  sorter  shamed  and  sheepish- 
like,  and  says  he, 

"  '  I  don't  want  your  squirrel  for  nothing.' 

« « Well,'  says  I, « that's  all  fair,  but  your  duck  is 
worth  two  squirrels.' 

,  " '  I  dare  say  it  is,'  says  he  ;  *  but  I  have  a  par- 
ticular use  for  the  squirrel.' 

" '  Well,  then,'  says  I,  *  here  he  is,  for  I  an't  got 
no  use  for  him  at  all,  and  was  just  looking  for 
somebody  to  give  him  to.' 

"So  with  that  he  takes  it,  and  looks  at  it  mighty 
pleased  and  smilinglike,  and  says  he, 

" l  Well,  this  will  do.  This  is  better  than  throw- 
ing  away  a  whole  handful  of  powder  and  shot  out 
of  this  drotted  old  gun  of  mine  that  takes  half  a 
pound  at  a  load.  I  an't  sorry,'  says  he,  '  that  I 
didn't  find  one  myself.' 

"Says  I,  'You  must  have  wanted  a  squirrel 
mighty  bad.  But  maybe  some  of  your  folks  is 
sick.' 

" «  Not  rightly  one  of  my  own  family,'  says  he. 
« But  I  was  going  out  a  ducking,  and  I  promised  to 
kill  a  squirrel  or  a  partridge  if  I  could  see  one, 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  177 

and  I  don't  make  no  doubt  I'd  have  got  more  for 
it  than  would  have  paid  me  for  my  ammunition/ 

"  So  the  minute  I  heard  that,  says  I, 

"  *  Well,  if  there  an't  no  game  this  way,  it's  no 
use  of  my  going  any  further,  so  I'll  just  turn  back 
with  you.' 

"  So  we  keeps  talking  as  we  goes  along,  and  at 
last  says  I, 

" '  What  gentleman  is  that  you  say  is  sick  at 
your  house  ?' 

"  With  that  he  started  and  looked  sorter  wild- 
like,  and  says  he, 

"  *  Sick  gentleman  !  I  didn't  say  there  was  any 
sick  gentleman  at  my  house.' 

" « Well,  maybe  you  didn't,'  says  I ;  for  I  seed 
how  it  was,  colonel,  and  I  didn't  want  to  give  the 
fellow  any  scare.  So  I  says  no  more  about  that, 
and  we  walks  on  till  I  seed  where  his  house  was, 
and  he  stops,  and  I  goes  on  till  I  was  out  of  sight, 
and  then  I  takes  the  woods  and  comes  home." 

"Did  you  ask  the  fellow's  name?"  said  Bal- 
combe. 

"  No,  sir/'  replied  Keizer  ;  "  I  hear  'em  say  it 
an't  the  fashion  in  this  country  to  ask  people's 
names ;  but  I  reckon  I  could  find  out  mighty 
handy." 

"  It's  not  worth  while,"  said  Balcombe.  "  Was 
he  a  long-legged,  parrot-toed  fellow,  with  a  scar  on 
his  right  cheek  ?" 

"  That's  the  very  fellow,"  said  John. 

"Jim  Porter,"  said   Balcombe.    "He  is  about 


178 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


my  age,  and  when  I  lived  here  his  father  paid  fifty 
pairs  of  canvass-back  ducks  annually  for  the  exclu- 
sive privilege  of  hunting  ducks  and  muskrats  in 
Mr.  Raby's  marshes.  The  good  old  gentleman 
gave  me  the  whole  benefit  of  this  rent  for  my  table. 
I  used  sometimes  to  hunt  with  Jim  ;  and  often 
when  he  has  come  with  his  weekly  tribute,  with- 
out hat  or  shoes,  I  have  made  him  happy  by  telling 
him  to  sell  the  ducks  for  his  own  benefit.  I  see 
that  he  is  somehow  bound  to  Montague,  but  I  think 
my  hold  on  him  will  prove  the  stronger." 

In  the  morning  Balcombe  led  the  conversation 
from  a  fine  brandered  duck  which  smoked  on  the 
table  to  the  marsh  from  which  it  had  been  taken  ; 
and  soon  learned  that  Jim  Porter  had  fallen  heir  to 
his  father's  cottage  and  occupation.  He  therefore 
needed  no  guide,  and  he  could  never  want  aid  in 
a  conflict  with  Montague  face  to  face.  I  felt  it, 
however,  to  be  my  duty  to  accompany  him,  and 
as  he  made  no  objection,  we  walked  out  together 
soon  after  breakfast.  Balcombe,  who  had  worn 
arms  until  they  were  as  familiar  to  him  as  his 
garments,  had  no  occasion  to  add  anything  to  his 
equipment,  so  that  we  did  nothing  to  attract  obser- 
vation. A  walk  of  two  or  three  miles  brought  us 
to  Porter's  cottage. 

He  was  in  act  to  go  out  to  the  marsh,  the  tide 
being  then  at  the  proper  stage.  Balcombe  gave 
him  to  understand  that  his  visit  was  to  the  gentle- 
man who  was  sick  there,  and  was  at  once  told  that 
there  was  no  such  gentleman. 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  179 

"  Gone  !"  said  Balcombe,  quietly.  "  Well,  I  have 
not  lost  my  labour,  Jim,  for  I  am  right  glad  to  see 
you  again.  I  suppose  the  poor  old  man  is  gone, 
and  you  are  just  living  here  in  the  old  place,  and 
at  the  old  business." 

While  he  said  this,  the  poor  fellow  gazed  at  him 
with  intense  curiosity,  and  at  length  exclaimed, 

"  Why,  good  Lord  !  To  be  sure  now  !  This 
an't  Mr.  Balcombe?" 

"  Yes  it  is,  Jim,"  said  Balcombe,  extending  his 
hand.  "  Your  old  friend  George  Balcombe  come 
back  again  once  more." 

The  man  seemed  much  moved,  and  exhibited  an 
amusing  struggle  between  habitual  respect  and 
the  desire  to  give  free  utterance  to  his  pleasure  at 
seeing  Balcombe.  After  some  few  kind  inquiries, 
Balcombe  asked  Jim  when  his  guest  had  left  him. 
The  fellow  looked  a  little  queer,  but  at  last  said, 

"  I  suppose  it  don't  make  no  difference  talking 
to  you,  Mr.  Balcombe ;  but  he  didn't  want  any- 
body to  know  he  was  here,  or  where  he  was 
gone." 

"  He  is  gone,  then  ?"  said  Balcombe. 

•*  Oh,  yes,  sir.  He  started  this  morning  at  day- 
light." 

"How  did  he  travel?"  said  Balcombe.  "I 
thought  he  had  been  badly  hurt." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,  sir,"  said  Jim.  "  He 
did  keep  a  mighty  moaning,  and  he  didn't  seem  to 
have  the  use  of  his  right  arm  ;  but  he  just  said  he 
was  sick,  and  kept  his  bed/' 


180  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

"  How  long  has  he  been  sick  ?"  asked  Balcombe. 

"Only  since  Sunday  morning.  He  came  in 
after  I  was  gone  to  bed,  and  in  the  morning  he 
said  he  had  caught  a  mighty  bad  cold  the  over- 
night ;  and  sure  enough  he  did  look  desperate 
bad." 

"  And  how  long  had  he  been  here  ?" 

"  He  came  here  little  more  than  a  week  ago, 
sir,  and  said  he  wanted  to  stay  with  me  a  while 
just  to  see  how  things  was  going  on.  You  know, 
sir,  he  was  mighty  fond  of  the  old  man  of  all,  and 
the  old  man  of  him.  Ah,  Lord !  I  wish  we  had 
him  back  here  again.  If  you  please  to  believe  me, 
Mr.  Balcombe,  they  make  me  pay  more  now  for 
hunting  in  the  Pocoson  than  I  used  to  do  when  there 
were  ten  times  as  many  ducks ;  and  the  devil  a 
one  do  they  give  me  back  again,  but  send  them  all 
away  to  Fredericksburg  and  them  places.  Well, 
sir,  you  see  Mr.  Montague  gave  me  sort  of  a  hint 
that  maybe  all  wasn't  right,  and  if  every  one  had 
their  own,  he  wasn't  sure  that  poor  Miss  Fanny 
that  married  Mr.  Napier,  and  has  not  got  a  house 
over  her  head,  they  say,  would  not  be  right  well 
off.  So  he  said  he  had  come  here  to  see  if  he  could 
not  find  out  something,  and  when  he  went  to  the 
hall  they  sorter  suspicioned  him  and  drove  him 
away.  So  he  went  away  a  while,  and  then  come 
back  and  staid  here  so  with  me." 

"And   what  made   him  go  away  in  such  a 
hurry?" 

"  Why  that's  what  I  cannot  find  out  rightly," 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  181 

said  Jim.  "  I  don't  believe  he  had  any  notion  of 
it  yesterday  morning ;  but  when  I  went  out  a  duck- 
ing he  said  he  would  be  glad  to  get  a  squirrel,  and 
axed  me  to  kill  one  for  him.  So  I  went,  sir,  but 
never  saw  one  ;  and  as  I  come  back  I  meets  a  man 
with  one,  and  I  wanted  to  buy  it,  but  he  gave  it  to 
me.  And  he  had  a  gun  that  he  called  a  rifle.  I 
never  saw  one  before  ;  and  he  talked  about  putting 
a  ball  into  a  squirrel's  eye  just  as  if  he  had  put  it 
there  with  his  finger  and  thumb.  And  sure  enough 
he  had  hit  the  poor  thing  right  in  the  eye,  and  scat- 
tered all  its  brains.  So  he  turned  back  with  me, 
and  we  had  a  heap  of  talk,  and  when  we  got  here 
he  went  on,  and  I  don't  know  what  became  of  him. 
So  when  I  went  in  says  Mr.  Montague, 

"  *  Well,  Jim,  did  you  kill  me  a  squirrel  f 

**•'  No.'  said  I,  *  but  I  have  brought  you  one  I  got 
from  another  man.' 

"And  with  that  I  showed  him  the  squirrel,  and 
how  the  fellow  had  hit  him  just  where  he  pleased 
with  a  single  ball.  And  as  soon  as  he  seed  it  1 
thought  he  looked  uneasy,  and  says  he, 

" '  That  was  the  very  rifle  I  heard  two  hours 
ago.' 

" '  Why,'  says  I,  *  there's  been  a  good  many 
people  out  to-day,  and  I  have  heard  guns  myself 
where  by  good  rights  nobody  ought  to  shoot  but 
me.' 

"  *  I  reckon  they  were  shot  guns,'  said  he ;  '  but 
that  I  heard  was  a  rifle.' 

"  '  And  what's  the  difference  ?'  says  I. 

VOL    II.- 


182  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

"Oh,'  says  he,  *  they  an't  no  more  alike  than  the 
bark  of  a  dog  and  the  howl  of  a  wolf.'  And  says 
he,  *  Does  not  anybody  about  here  use  a  rifle  ?' 

"  *  No,'  says  I ;  l  and  I  never  seen  or  heard  of 
one  before  to-day.' 

" '  Then  the  man  that  shot  the  squirrel  had  a 
rifle  ?'  says  he. 

" '  To  be  sure/  says  I,  *  else  he  never  could 
have  done  that,'  says  I,  pointing  to  the  squirrel's 
head. 

"  •  Did  you  see  it  ?'  says  he. 

"  *  Yes,'  says  I,  *  and  the  sorriest,  rustiest  looking 
old  thing  it  was  I  ever  saw.  My  old  gun's  a  beauty 
to  it,'  says  I.  *  But  then  the  man  said  she  was  the 
real  stuff,  and  he  would  give  her,  he  said,  for  ne'er 
a  shooting  iron  in  the  whole  country/ 

4<  And  with  that,  sir,  I  seed  Mr.  Montague  begin 
to  look  worse  than  he  did,  and  I  thought  maybe  he 
talked  too  much,  and  so  I  told  him,  and  was  going 
away. 

"  *  No,'  says  he,  *  Jim,  talking  don't  do  me  no 
harm,  only  the  light  hurts  my  eyes/ 

"  And  so,  sir,  he  laid  back  his  head  upon  the 
pillow,  and  puts  his  hand  over  his  eyes,  and  then 
says  he, 

" '  What  sort  of  a  looking  man  was  that,  that 
had  the  rifle  ?' 

'•  So  I  tells  him,  sir,  he  was  a  little  dark-skinned 
man,  with  black  eyes. 

" '  Did  he  look  like  a  gentleman??'  says  he. 

" '  I  can't  say  he  did/  says  I,  *  for  all  he  had  on 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  183 

pretty  good  clothes,  but  he  didn't  look  like  he  was 
used  to  them  ;  and  as  to  his  talk,'  says  I,  *  sir,  he 
didn't  talk  no  better  than  me,  nor  so  well  neither/ 

"  And  while  I  was  talking,  Mr.  Balcombe,  I 
could  not  see  Mr.  Montague's  eyes,  but  the  lower 
part  of  his  face  was  as  pale  as  a  corpse,  and  he  got 
right  black  about  the  mouth,  and  I  was  scared,  and 
asked  him  what  was  the  matter,  but  he  just  mo- 
tioned me  to  go  away.  So  after  a  while  he  calls 
me  back,  and  says  he, 

"  '  Jim,  is  there  any  chance  to  hire  any  sort  of  a 
carriage  in  the  neighbourhood  ?' 

" '  No/  says  I,  '  sir,  except  it  be  old  Tom  that 
old  Mr.  Raby  set  free,  and  he  has  got  just  an  old 
rattletrap  of  a  gig  that  he  sometimes  rides  in  when 
he  carries  cakes  to  musters  and  the  like/ 

"  '  Well,'  says  he,  *  that  must  do,  if  there's  no 
better  to  be  had.  And  I  have  no  doubt,'  says  he, 
1  old  Tom  would  be  glad  to  oblige  me  by  taking  me 
as  far  as  Tapahannock/ 

"  *  Why,  Lord !'  says  I, c  Mr.  Montague,  you  are 
too  sick  to  go/ 

'* '  That's  the  very  reason,'  says  he.  '  Besides, 
my  business  wants  me  at  Fredericksburg,  and 
there  I  can  see  a  doctor tind  get  help;  and,'  says 
he, '  it  an't  so  far  to  Tapahannock,  and  there  I  can 
get  a  carriage.  So  now,  Jim,'  says  he,  *  I  want  to 
get  to  Fredericksburg  to-morrow  night,  and  old 
Tom  must  be  here  before  light,  and  I  must  be  at 
Tapahannock  a  little  after  sunrise/ 

44  *  Won't  that  be  too  much  of  a  journey  V  says  I. 


184 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


"  *  I  cannot  help  it,'  says  he ;  '  it's  better  than 
stopping  on  the  road.' 

"So  with  that,  sir,  I  speaks  to  old  Tom,  and  sure 
enough  he  was  here  by  a  little  after  light,  and  off 
they  went." 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

The  bird  that  sings  within  the  brake, 
The  swan  that  swims  upon  the  lake, 
One  mate,  and  one  alone,  will  take. 

BYRON: 

AFTER  some  little  more  conversation  we  re- 
turned to  the  hall. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  now  ?"  said  I. 

"  Boot  and  saddle,"  said;Balcombe,  cheerily ;  "  to 
horse  and  pursue." 

Accordingly,  we  hurried  back,  and  were  pres- 
ently on  the  road,  after  a  word  of  apology  and  a 
promise  of  explanation  to  our  host.  We  had  not 
ridden  two  miles,  before  we  came  to  a  little  grog- 
shop on  the  confines  of  the  estate,  established,  I 
have  no  doubt,  for  the  especial  benefit  of  Mr. 
Raby's  negroes.  Here  stood  a  genuine  rattletrap 
of  a  gig,  and  a  sorry  old  horse,  apparently  spent 
with  fatigue,  his  hair  all  matted  and  crusted  with 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  185 

the  sweat  that  had  dried  on  him  as  he  stood  in  the 
cold  air.  An  old  negro  was  just  staggering  from 
the  house,  and  was  in  the  act  of  clambering  up  into 
the  gig,  when  Balcombe  inquired  what  he  had  done 
with  the  gentleman  he  had  taken  to  Tapahannock. 
Tom,  who  was  too  drunk  to  remember  any  cau- 
tion if  he  had  received  one,  said  he  had  gone  on 
with  his  own  carriage  and  servant.  This  was 
poor  encouragement ;  but  we  pressed  on.  At  Port 
Royal  we  obtained  fresh  horses,  and  having  learned 
that  Montague  had  passed  only  two  hours  before, 
we  made  a  race  from  thence  to  Fredericksburg. 
But  all  in  vain.  He  was  there  and  housed  before 
we  arrived.  We  tried  in  vain  to  find  where.  At 
the  principal  tavern  he  had  not  stopped.  So  much 
we  learned  with  certainty,  and  this  was  all  that 
we  could  learn,  for  it  was  already  bedtime  when 
we  arrived. 

The  next  morning  John  was  on  the  scent  be- 
times, and  ascertained  that  Montague  had  stopped 
at  Falmouth  for  the  night,  and  had  at  an  early  hour 
left  that  place  for  Baltimore.  Here,  then,  we  were 
fairly  beaten  in  a  straight  race ;  but  being  at  Fred- 
ericksburg, it  was  as  well  to  execute  the  business 
for  which  I  had  proposed  to  come  there,  if  it  should 
prove  necessary.  I  accordingly  laid  my  case  at 
large  before  an  eminent  attorney.  As  there  was 
no  doubt  of  the  result  if  the  papers  could  be  secured, 
he  determined  to  take  such  a  course  as  would 
at  once  put  them  safely  in  the  custody  of  the  law. 
With  that  view  he  drafted  a  bill,  to  which  Mr.  Ed» 


186  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

ward  Raby  was  made  defendant,  setting  forth  the 
whole  transaction,  as  I  believed  it  to  have  taken 
place.  Mr.  Swann  was  also  made  defendant,  and 
was  charged  with  the  possession  of  the  will,  and 
called  on  to  produce  it.  It  was  anticipated  that  in 
his  answer  he  would  disclaim  the  possession  of  any 
such  paper,  unless  such  a  one  might  be  concealed 
in  the  packet,  and  that  he  would  file  that  along  with 
his  answer. 

Having  arranged  this  matter  we  returned  to  our 
lodging,  where  we  spent  a  pleasant  evening.  In 
the  morning,  we  called  again  on  the  attorney  to 
obtain , the  .proper  process  along  with  a  copy  of  my 
bill.  He  was  out  at  the  time,  but  soon  came  in 
provided  with  the  necessary  papers.  After  some 
little  conversation,  he  said  he  had  been  called  on 
the, night  before  by  a  gentleman  whose  business  he 
.hadv  declined,  because  he  apprehended  that  his  en- 
gagement with  me  did  not  leave  him  at  liberty  to 
undertake  it.  On  further  inquiry,  we  ascertained 
that  Montague,  on  leaving  Falmouth,  must  have 
come  around  by  Chatham,  and  back  into  Freder- 
icksburg.  We  were,  of  course,  eager  to  learn 
where  he  was  ;  but  Mr.  L.  (the  attorney)  observing 
this,  told  us  he  was  not  at  liberty  to  inform  us.  I 
therefore  remonstrated  against  any  concealment 
on  the  part  of  one  whose  professional  services  I 
had  engaged  ;  but  he  stopped  me  short  at  once,  by 
saying  that  it  was  only  professionally  that  he  had 
become  acquainted  with  Montague's  whereabout, 
and  though  not  free  to  engage  in  his  service,  he 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  187 

was  alike  prohibited  by  the  duties  of  his  profession 
from  disclosing  anything  which  Montague  wished 
to  conceal,  and  which,  in  any  other  character, 
would  not  have  been  made  known  to  him.  To  the 
scrupulous  delicacy  of  this  reserve  we  could  object 
nothing,  and  even  felt  some  hesitancy  about  acting 
so  far  on  what  we  had  learned  as  to  renew  our 
search  for  Montague.  From  this  difficulty  we  were 
however  relieved  by  Mr.  L.,  who  assured  us  that 
Montague  had  at  an  early  hour  that  morning  set 
out  for  Baltimore.  We  had  therefore  nothing  left 
for  it  but  to  return  to  Raby  Hall. 

We  returned,  accordingly,  and  I  committed  to 
Balcombe  the  task  of  breaking  the  matter  to  the 
major.  There  was  no  occasion  to  offend  him  by 
taking  an  officer  with  us,  as  his  acknowledgment 
of  the  process  would  answer  every  purpose.  He 
was  much  surprised,  but  saw  at  once  the  solution 
of  Montague's  strange  behaviour.  He  expressed 
himself  obliged,  too,  at  our  having  refrained  from 
giving  him  any  hint  of  our  suspicions,  until  we  had 
taken  such  measures  as  made  the  line  of  duty  plain 
to  him.  This  was  to  answer  that  he  had  no  such 
paper  as  the  supposed  will  unless  it  was  contained 
in  the  packet ;  to  tell  how  he  came  by  that,  and 
deliver  it  into  court  as  a  part  of  his  answer. 

We  were  now  secure  from  everything  but  vio- 
lence, unless  our  conjectures  (of  the  truth  of  which 
we  had  no  doubt)  should  prove  false.  As  the  major 
was  now  effectually  on  his  guard,  and  Montague 
fairly  chased  off,  we  ventured  to  return  to  Craiga- 


188  GEORGE    BALCOMBE". 

net,  leaving  John  at  Raby  Hall,  with  instructions 
to  keep  a  sharp  lookout,  and  notify  us  if  he  saw 
any  signs  of  the  reappearance  of  Montague  in  the 
neighbourhood. 

Our  return  was  welcomed  by  the  undissembled 
pleasure  of  our  friends,  which  was  enhanced  by  the 
history  of  our  late  adventures.  My  confidence 
in  the  ultimate  success  of  our  endeavours  to  recover 
my  property,  seemed  now  to  communicate  itself 
to  my  mother  and  sisters.  To  Ann  the  subject 
seemed  one  of  less  exciting  interest,  though  she 
expressed  and  doubtless  felt  a  quiet  pleasure,  but 
not  less  deep  than  theirs,  in  the  prospect  of  afflu- 
ence for  herself,  and  of  all  the  comforts  of  life  for 
one  who  had  been  to  her  a  second  mother.  The 
day  after  our  return  had  been  appropriated  fora 
visit  to  Oak  wood,  where  it  was  proposed  to  spend 
a  few  days.  As  the  custom  of  the  country  included 
in  such  invitations  all  chance  comers  in  the  invited 
family,  the  arrival  of  Balcombe  and  myself  made 
no  difference  but  the  addition  of  two  to  the  party. 
The  mother  of  Howard,  as  formerly,  presided  over 
the  hospitalities  of  the  household,  of  which  he  did 
the  honours  in  the  frank  and  courteous  spirit  of  a 
Virginia  gentleman  of  the  old  school.  I  went 
with  a  predetermination  to  take  whatever  part 
might  be  assigned  me  by  circumstances ;  while 
Balcombe,  who  was  but  a  looker-on,  promised  to 
aid  me  by  his  observation  to  ascertain  how  matters 
stood  between  the  several  parties.  I  was  agree- 
ably surprised  to  find  myself,  in  a  good  measure, 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  189 

discharged  from  the  necessity  of  giving  a  very 
marked  attention  to  Miss  Howard.  Whenever  I 
approached  her  I  found  myself  received  as  formerly 
with  a  manner  that  showed  that  my  person  was 
respected  and  my  conversation  not  unacceptable. 
But,  contrary  to  his  former  habit,  young  Douglas 
was  seldom  absent  from  his  cousin's  side,  and 
always  ready  to  strike  into  any  chitchat  in  which 
she  might  be  engaged.  Howard  was,  as  usual, 
respectfully  and  delicately  attentive  to  Ann,  still 
approaching  and  addressing  her  with  the  same 
guarded  consideration  for  all  her  wishes  and  feel- 
ings, which  displayed  not  more  a  desire  to  please 
than  a  fear  of  alarming  her.  I  thought,  too,  that 
his  attentions  were  not  received  with  the  same 
placid  satisfaction  as  formerly.  Whether  the 
pleasure  was  more  or  less  I  could  not  determine ; 
but  it  was  not  the  same. 

There  was  more  excitement,  more  flutter  in  her 
manner,  and  occasionally  I  thought  I  saw  a  stolen 
glance  directed  towards  me,  and  that  her  ear 
was  sometimes  listening  to  catch  my  words  ad- 
dressed to  others.  In  this  change  of  partners  Jane 
and  I  seemed  thrown  out  of  the  game,  for  it  was 
one  we  could  not  play  at  altogether  ;  and  but  for 
the  presence  of  some  other  lads  and  lasses,  whose 
characters  form  no  part  of  my  history,  we  should 
have  been  absolute  supernumeraries.  To  this  I 
had  no  objection.  I  had  little  wish  to  be  attentive 
to  Ann  in  company  ;  and  the  rest,  just  then,  were 
more  than  indifferent  to  me.  I  accordingly  joined 


190  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

myself  to  Balcombe,  and  with  him  mixed  in  the 
conversation,  now  of  one  party,  now  of  another, 
while  he  occasionally  threw  off  remarks  that 
arrested  the  attention  of  all. 

I  was  curious,  on  my  sister's  account,  to  dis- 
cover whether  the  attention  of  Douglas  to  his 
cousin  was  the  spontaneous  result  of  his  own  feel- 
ings, or  the  effect  of  some  effort  on  her  part  to  keep 
him  near  her.  I  suspected  the  last,  and  felt 
obliged  by  finding  myself  by  her  own  act  emanci- 
pated from  the  necessity  of  paying  constant  though 
unmeaning  attention  to  her.  But  was  there  any- 
thing of  coquetry  or  pique  in  this  ?  I  thought  not. 
I  was  always  welcomed  as  a  third  party  in  their 
dialogues,  and  not  unfrequently  appeals  were  made 
to  me  by  which  I  seemed  purposely  drawn  into 
them.  But  no  effort  was  made  to  detain  me  ;  no 
attempt,  after  engaging  me  in  conversation,  to 
shake  him  off.  In  short,  no  lady  could  carry  her- 
self towards  anygentleman  in  a  manner  more  clear- 
ly indicative  of  every  favourable  sentiment  but 
that  of  love. 

Poor  Jane  1  saw  was  in  a  state  of  great  uneasi- 
ness. She  received  as  a  matter  of  course  from  the 
young  men  of  the  party  such  attentions  as  were 
paid  her ;  but  she  took  no  interest  in  them.  Her 
eye  wandered  continually  towards  Douglas  and 
Margaret  Howard,  and  sometimes,  as  I  thought, 
looked  imploringly  at  me,  and  sometimes  glanced 
reproachfully  at  Ann.  The  courtesy-  of  Howard 
at  length  provided  her  with  a  temporary  relief,  by 


GEORGE   BALCOMBE.  191 

seating  her  at  the  piano.  She  played  well  and  sung 
in  fine  taste,  so  that  she  appeared  to  more  advan- 
tage at  the  instrument  than  in  any  other  situation. 
Most  of  the  young  men  clustered  around  her, 
while  Balcombe  and  I  stood  aloof. 

After  playing  one  or  two  overtures,  she  sud- 
denly struck  into  that  beautiful  song  of  Moore's, 
in  which  he  characterizes  the  constancy  of  a  faith- 
ful heart  by  likening  it  to  the  fancied  devotion  of 
the  sunflower  to  the  god  of  day.  This  she  sung 
with  a  pathos  which  arrested  the  attention  of  the 
whole  company,  and,  having  closed  the  strain, 
folded  her  hands  in  her  lap,  and  sat  silent  and  with 
downcast  eyes.  Immediately  some  conversation 
arose,  which  I  did  not  at  first  hear,  but  to  which 
my  attention  was  presently  drawn  by  an  appeal 
from  Miss  Howard. 

"  Do,  Mr.  Napier,"  said  she,  "  come  here  and 
talk  a  little  reason  to  your  sister.  She  is  not  con- 
tent that  we  shall  beguile  ourselves,  with  the  aid  of 
poetry  and  music,  into  such  pretty  fancies  as  Moore 
has  expressed  in  that  beautiful  song,  but  she  in- 
sists in  sober-spoken  prose  that  undying  constancy 
is  the  only  test  of  truth  in  love.  She  would  not 
only  persuade  herself,  but  others,  that  neither  man 
nor  woman  ever  can  love  more  than  once  with 
genuine  passion.  How  say  you  ?" 

"  I  can  only  say,"  replied  I,  "  that  her  opinion 
shows  that  she  has  had  no  proof  to  the  contrary 
in  her  own  feelings ;  and  as  I  have  had  none,  I 


192 


GEORGE  BALCOMBE. 


cannot  take  upon  myself  to  condemn  her  notion 
on  the  subject.  But  if  we  give  credence  either  to 
the  words  or  actions  of  others,  we  must  suspect 
her  of  error." 

"  And  what,"  said  Jane,  "  do  the  words  and  ac- 
tions of  others  prove,  but  that  they  who  are  inca- 
pable of  that  imperishable  devotion  which  alone 
deserves  the  name  of  love,  may  feel  a  hundred 
times  that  which  passes  with  them  for  it  ?  It  will 
still  be  a  question  whether  they  ever  felt  it  once." 

"  I  have  never  learned  to  chop  logic,"  said  Miss 
Howard,  "  but  I  have  heard  of  something  which  is 
called  '  begging  the  question,'  Is  not  this  some- 
thing like  it,  Mr.  Balcombe  ?" 

"  I  cannot  say,"  said  Balcombe,  laughing  ;  "  but 
if  a  lady  condescends  to  be  a  beggar,  no  gentle- 
man would  deny  her  suit.  Therefore  either  way 
Miss  Napier's  argument  is  unanswerable." 

"  Why,  really,  you  gentlemen  are  so  insufferably 
polite  and  acquiescing,"  said  the  lady,  "  that  one 
might  as  well  expect  truth  from  a  love  ditty.  So 
I  suppose  we  must  take  Mr.  Moore's  word  for  all 
that  sort  of  nonsense,  because  it  is  in  vain  to  hope 
for  anything  better.  Certainly  not  from  Mr.  Na- 
pier ;  but  as  to  you,  Mr.  Balcombe,  I  supposed  that 
you  had  spent  so  much  time  among  the  unsophisti- 
cated sons  and  daughters  of  nature,  that  the  habit 
of  speaking  frankly  had  overcome  the  fear  of  offend- 
ing. Now,  I  do  beseech  you,  if  you  can  compli- 
ment us  so  highly,  imagine  us  a  company  of  squaws, 
and  tell  us  what  you  think  of  this  matter." 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE,  193 

<c  I  think  of  love,"  said  Balcombe,"  as  I  do  of  a 
fever.  He  who  dies  of  the  first  attack  will  never 
have  another." 

"  But  suppose,"  said  Miss  Howard,  4C  he  don't 
die  of  it." 

"  Then  he  will  get  well." 

"  And  what  then  ?" 

"  According  to  Miss  Napier,  he  may  be  immor- 
tal" 

"  Pshaw !"  said  Miss  Howard,  "  you  are  too 
provoking.  But  what  do  you  say  to  his  case  while 
he  is  yet  alive,  though  badly  in  love  ?" 

"  That  if  he  expects  to  die  of  it,  he  never  ex- 
pects to  be  in  love  again/' 

"  Still  you  evade  the  question,"  said  Miss  How- 
ard. 

<c  On  the  contrary,"  said  Balcombe,  "  I  offer  a 
solution  to  which  no  one  can  object.  If  Miss  Na- 
pier expects  to  die  of  love,  it  ought  to  be  satisfac- 
tory to  her,  and  equally  so  to  you,  who  manifestly 
have  no  such  expectation." 

"  At  least,"  said  Jane,  "  /  will  not  affect  to  mis- 
understand you.  You  clearly  are  against  me. 
No  one,  thinking  as  I  do,  could  jest  with  the  sub- 
ject." 

If  those  who  don't  think  love  a  jest,  Miss  Na- 
pier; agree  with  you,"  said  Balcombe,  "  I  certainly 
am  on  your  side." 

"  What,  then,  seriously  speaking,"  asked  Jane, 
4t  would  you  admit  a§  a  sufficient  cause  for  loving 
3.  second  time  ?** 

VOL,  II. R 


194  GEORGE   BALCOMBE. 

"  Accident,  blind  contact,  or  the  strong  necessity 
of  loving,"  said  Balcombe,  carelessly. 

"  I  declare,  Mr.  Balcombe,"  said  Jane,  "  I  shall 
hate  you  if  you  talk  so." 

"  You  must  think  more  favourably  of  hate  than 
love,  Miss  Napier,"  replied  Balcombe,  "  if  you  can 
hate  on  so  slight  a  cause,  and  yet  will  not  allow 
that  love  shall  spring  from  the  habits  of  social  in- 
tercourse, from  an  interchange  of  good  offices, 
from  a  common  destiny,  or  from  that  law  of  our 
nature  which  makes  us  incapable  of  happiness 
which  there  is  none  to  share." 

«« Well,"  said  Jane,  "  for  my  part,  I  would  not 
give  a  straw  for  the  love  of  any  man  who  had  ever 
loved  another." 

"  Take  care,  Jane,"  said  Margaret ;  "  your  own 
maxim  may  be  turned  against  you.  The  time 
may  come  when  you  would  be  glad  to  get  a  better 
market  for  what  is  left  of  your  heart,  after  having 
loved  more  than  one." 

"  Oh,  Margaret !"  said  Jane,  reproachfully.  .,;** 

"  Nay,"  said  Margaret,  "  I  mean  no  insinuation, 
dear ;  I  only  mean  to  say  that  I  have  such  an 
opinion  of  the  indestructible  good  qualities  of  your 
heart  as  to  believe  they  can  stand  the  fire  of  love, 
and  be  none  the  worse.  Now,  if  you  can  pay  me 
as  high  a  compliment,  1  certainly  shall  not  take 
offence  at  it." 

"lam  sure  you  mean  no  offence,"  said  Jane  ; 
"  but,  really,  the  idea  of  having  one's  heart  burned 
to  a  cinder  is  shocking." 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  195 

"  That's  your  idea,"  said  Margaret,  "  not  mine. 
I  only  hope  the  cinder  may  yet  answer  to  kindle 
the  fire  of  love  in  another  bosom.  But  come,  Mr. 
Balcombe,  let  us  have  one  of  your  oracular  re- 
sponses on  the  subject." 

"  The  ancient  sibyl,"  answered  Balcombe,  with 
much  solemnity,  "  is  the  type  of  her  sex.  Her 
books  are  the  type  of  woman's  heart.  They  were 
a  treasure  beyond  price,  containing  all  that  was 
necessary  to  happiness  and  virtue.  This  was 
alike  in  all  and  in  every  part ;  and  when  more  than 
half  were  burned,  the  great  arcanum  was  still 
there." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Margaret,  dropping  a 
courtesy.  "  The  compliment  deserves  my  best 
courtesy  ;  but  I  feel  interested  to  have  your  sex 
included  in  it,  because,  as  I  am  not  quite  young 
enough  for  a  boy  of  fifteen,  I  expect  I  shall  have 
to  content  myself  with  such  small  remnant  of  a 
heart  as  some  good  man  may  offer  me  after  having 
been  in  love  half  a  dozen  times." 

"  It  would  not  become  me,"  said  Balcombe,  "  to 
praise  my  own  sex;  but  if  you  will  return  the 
compliment,  I  will  not  deny  its  justice." 

"  Then,  sir,"  said  the  lady,  bowing  graciously, 
"  I  pray  you  to  consider  it  reciprocated  in  your 
own  words.  And  so,  my  dear  Jane,  for  all  that's 
come  and  gone  yet,  I  may  hope  to  pick  up  of  the 
rejected  leavings  of  you  and  Ann,  and  all  the  other 
belles,  a  piece  of  a  heart  worth  having." 

This  was  said  with  an  arch  glance  at  Douglas 


196 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE, 


and  myself.  He  laughed,  Jane  bit  her  lip,  and 
Ann  coloured  to  the  tips  of  her  ears.  How  I 
looked  I  know  not ;  as  little  can  I  tell  how  I  felt, 
except  my  delight  at  observing  that  some  not  un- 
pleasant feeling  seemed  to  mingle  with  Ann's  con- 
fusion. She  did  not  raise  her  eyes,  but  I  fancied 
that  they  tried  to  peep  through  their  half  trans- 
parent snowy  lids  at  me.  She  was  standing  be- 
hind Jane's  chair,  between  Howard  and  Balcombe. 
The  latter  now  turned  to  her,  and  said, 

"You  give  no  opinion  on  this- subject,  my 
dear.'! 

<c  I  cannot,"  said  she.  *'  William  said  he  could 
not  condemn  Jane's  opinion,  because  he  had  no 
experience  to  the  contrary,  and  I  can  neither 
condemn  nor  adopt  it,  because  I  have  no  experi- 
ence at  all." 

"  What  a  sweet  innocent !"  said  Miss  How- 
ard, with  an  arch  and  playful  frankness  which 
showed  that  what  she  said  did  not  touch  her  own 
feelings.  "  Sisterly  affection  is  the  warmest  feel- 
ing she  has  ever  experienced,  and  such  as  it  is,  I 
dare  swear  it  is  the  warmest  she  ever  will  feel." 

"  Oh,  Margaret !"  said  Howard,  observing  that 
Ann  was  overwhelmed  with  confusion. 

"  Never  mind,  Henry,"  said  his  sister  ;  "  you 
have  no  need  to  guard  Ann's  sensibilities  from  me. 
She  knows  I  love  her,"  continued  she,  gliding  be- 
tween her  brother  and  Ann,  and  kindly  taking  her 
hand.  She  knows  I  love  her,  and  I  love  her  be- 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


197 


cause  I  understand  her  better  than  she  understands, 
herself." 

\  '•'••  Ann  looked  up  timidly  and  affectionately  in  her 
face,  and  meeting  her  half-tender,  half-playful 
glance,  bowed  her  head  on  her  friend's  shoulder, 
and  hid  her  blushes  there.  Balcombe  turned  his 
quick  eye  inquiringly  on  Miss  Howard,  and  she 
answered  it  with  a  look  at  me  so  full  of  encourage- 
ment, that  I  could  no  longer  misunderstand  her 
hint.  Howard,  with  a  moody  and  uneasy  counte- 
nance, fell  back  behind  the  circle.  Jane  tore  her 
handkerchief  in  the  eager  vexation  with  which  she 
pulled  the  edge  of  it,  and  rising  abruptly,  broke  up 
the  conversation.  There  was  little  disposition  to 
renew  it.  Every  one  seemed  thoughtful,  and  all 
but  Balcombe  and  Margaret  Howard  rather  grave. 
His  eye  sparkled  as  it  always  did  when  he  saw 
his  way  clearly,  and  she  wore  an  air  of  high  and 
generous  excitement,  which  made  her  look  more 
noble  in  my  eyes  than  any  being  I  had  ever  seen, 
We  soon  separated  for  the  night,  when,  holding 
out  her  hand  to  me,  she  pressed  mine  cordially  and 
unreservedly,  and  said,  "Good-night,  Mr.  Wil- 
liam ;"  and  then  added,  in  a  lower  tone,  "  You  have 
acted  delicately  and  nobly.  You  deserve  to  bo 
happy,  and  you  will  be." 


198  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

"  Her  sex's  dignity  is  woman's  care." 

FOR  almost  the  first  time  in  her  life  Ann  had 
stolen  away  without  bidding  me  good-night ;  and 
for  the  very  first  time  the  omission  gave  me  no 
pain.  I  now  began  to  flatter  myself  that  Bal- 
combe's  conjectures  were  right,  and  that  she  was 
at  length  beginning  to  discover  the  secret  of  her 
heart.  That:  Ho  ward's  attention  had  at  first  given 
her  great  pleasure  was  certain ;  but  it  was  like  the 
pleasure  of  an  ingenuous  child  at  any  expression  of 
approbation  from  one  highly  esteemed.  To  the 
admiration  of  such  a  man  as  Howard  no  woman 
could  be  insensible ;  for  none  could  be  indifferent 
to  the  possession  of  such  qualities  as  alone  could 
command  it.  His  attentions,  too,  were  so  tem- 
pered by  respect  and  delicacy,  and  managed  with 
such  address,  that  they  could  not  be  unacceptable 
in  themselves,  though  he  should  be  an  object  of 
indifference.  But  now  they  were  not  received 
exactly  as  before.  Though  flattered  and  gratified, 
there  was  a  sort  of  restlessness  in  the  manner  of 
the  receiver  which  showed  that  they  awakened 
thoughts  in  which  he  had  no  part.  These  things 


GEORGE  BALCOMBE. 

had  occurred  to  me ;  and  Miss  Howard's  dexter- 
ous hint  that  what  Ann  had  been  accustomed  to 
consider  as  sisterly  affection  was  in  fact  the  warm- 
est feeling  of  which  her  warm  heart  was  capable, 
could  not  be  misunderstood. 

There  was  something,  indeed,  in  the  conduct  of 
that  young  lady  which  I  could  not  comprehend. 
Could  she  have  any  objection  to  the  success  of  her 
brother's  suit  ?  Certainly  not.  For  Ann  she  ex- 
pressed and  unequivocally  displayed  the  most  cor- 
dial friendship.  Towards  her*  brother  she  mani- 
festly felt  the  most  devoted  affection,  and  enthusi- 
astic admiration.  It  was  impossible  to  doubt  that 
his  happiness  was  dear  to  her.  One  thing  at  least 
was  clear ;  that  her  imputed  partiality  to  me  either 
never  had  existed,  or  had  settled  down  into  senti- 
ments such  as  do  not  often  survive  a  preference 
which  is  not  reciprocated.  I  therefore  began  to 
suspect  some  mistake  in  the  matter  from  the  first. 

In  these  ideas  I  found  that  Balcombe  fully  con- 
curred. It  may  be  well  supposed,  therefore,  that 
I  was  impatient  to  obtain  their  full  confirmation. 
My  first  step  would,  of  course,  have  been  to  seek 
an  interview  with  Ann ;  but  from  this  I  was  re- 
strained by  a  solemn  promise,  the  more  binding 
because  she  had  no  security  for  it  but  my  word. 
Not  only  had  I  no  right  to  take  a  step  which  might 
wound  her,  but  I  knew  that  scrupulous  regard  to 
that  and  all  other  pledges  was  indispensable  to  her 
favour.  I  felt  myself,  therefore,  condemned  ta 


200  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

silence,  of  which  I  could  not  help  complaining  to 
Balcombe. 

"  You  forget,"  said  he,  "  that  enforced  silence  is 
the  most  eloquent  of  all  pleaders.  She  who  has 
imposed  it  is  all  the  time  speaking  to  her  heart  on 
your  behalf;  not  indeed  to  awaken  love,  (that  were 
superfluous,)  but  gratitude  and  admiration.  Under 
such  circumstances  esteem  it  a  privilege  to  be 
silent.  If,  as  I  suspect,  Margaret  Howard  is 
aware  of  the  interdict,  she  has  left  little  for  you  to 
say,  and  will  soon  obtain  leave  for  you  to  say  that 
little." 

"  But  what  motive  can  she  have,"  asked  I,  "  to 
interest  herself  in  my  behalf?" 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  said  Balcombe,  "  what  there  may 
be  besides  the  manifest  generosity  of  her  temper, 
and  something,  perhaps,  of  that  disposition,  which 
so  many  women  have,  to  take  a  part  in  such  mat- 
ters. But  I  suspect  some  nearer  motive  besides. 
Perhaps  a  desire  to  rescue  herself  from  some  mis- 
construction. But  go  to  sleep,  William  ;  and  this 
time  be  sure  you  mingle  thanksgivings  with  your 
prayers,  for  I  think  I  see  the  dawn  of  happiness 
opening  such  as  may  well  deserve  your  thanks." 

The  next  day  I  saw,  and  not  without  concern, 
that  Howard's  spirits  were  depressed.  His  duties 
to  his  guests  were  obviously  a  burden  upon  him. 
The  excitement  of  his  sister's  feelings,  too,  seemed 
painful ;  and,  though  she  carried  herself  with  the 
cheerful  air  of  one  sure  of  the  right  and  bent  to  do- 
it, yet  it  was  plain  that  her  mind  needed  an  oppor- 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


201 


tunity  for  that  guidance  and  support  which  are  best 
sought  in  retirement.  As  our  visit  was  for  no  de- 
terminate time,  we  accommodated  it  to  these  symp- 
toms, and  in  the  evening  of  a  somewhat  dull  day 
returned  to  Craiganet. 

The  next  day,  while  Balcombe  and  I  were  out 
with  our  guns,  Howard  and  his  sister  drove  over. 
We  returned  to  the  house  just  as  he  was  about  to 
leave  it. 

"  I  shall  ride  the  servant's  horse,  Margaret,"  said 
he ;  "  and  you  will  command  him  and  the  barouche 
until  you  choose  to  go  home." 

He  said  this  with  polite  kindness ;  but  I  thought 
I  saw  some  little  pique  in  his  manner.  His  brow, 
too,  was  flushed,  and  his  eye  wandering ;  his  ad- 
dress to  Balcombe  was  hurried,  and  towards  myself 
there  was  something  quite  different  from  his  accus- 
tomed cordiality.  In  this  mood  he  took  his  leave ; 
and  our  party,  after  an  interchange  of  sundry 
blank  looks,  separated  to  dress  for  dinner.  Until 
we  met  at  table,  Ann  did  not  make  her  appearance. 
As  soon  as  she  entered  the  room,  I  was  struck  with 
her  excited  countenance.  Her  eye  swam  in  light, 
her  cheek  glowed,  and,  though  she  manifestly 
shrank  from  the  gaze  of  others,  there  was  an  air  of 
individuality  and  resolve  about  her  which  con- 
trasted strongly  with  her  accustomed  timidity. 
Her  whole  manner  was  that  of  one  who  sees  an 
object  distinctly,  with  a  fixed  purpose  of  pursuing 
it.  She  leaned  on  the  arm  of  Miss  Howard,  from 
whose  countenance  every  shade  of  embarrassment 


202  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

and  perplexity  was  banished.  She  was  full  of  ani- 
mation, and,  with  the  aid  of  Balcombe,  roused  up 
the  spirit  of  conversation  once  more  among  us.  As 
soon  as  dinner  was  over  she  called  for  her  carriage, 
and  I,  ordering  a  horse  for  the  servant,  offered  to 
accompany  her. 

"  No,  no,  Mr.  William,"  said  she  ;  "  you  are  not 
the  beau  for  my  money.  You  belong  to  the  sun- 
flower school.  Mr.  Balcombe's  versatile  notions 
of  love  and  gallantry  give  me  better  hopes  of 
him  ;  and  if,  like  Major  Dalgetty,  he'll  take  service 
with  me,  I  shall  be  glad  to  enlist  him  for  the  cam- 
paign." 

"  Under  what  prouder  banner  than  that  of  the 
white  lion,"  said  Balcombe,  "  could  a  soldier 
serve  ?  Command  me,  Lady  Margaret ;  and  be- 
lieve that,  if  I  have  been  less  prompt  to  offer  ser- 
vice than  you  to  demand  it,  it  was  but  because  I 
thought  that  younger  knights  might  be  more 
acceptable." 

"  Younger,  indeed !"  said  the  lady,  *'  and  why 
younger  ?  Time  was  when  men  did  not  give  them- 
selves up  to  selfishness  till  they  grew  old  ;  but  now 
they  are  so  carefully  trained  to  it,  that,  if  a  lady 
should  have  need  to  find  a  champion  fitted  to  deeds 
of  chivalrous  em  prize,  she  must  take  one  whose 
beard  is  gray.  But  we  have  no  right  to  expect 
anything  better.  When  woman  sets  up  for  her- 
self, and  contends  for  the  mastery  with  man,  she 
makes  him  her  rival,  not  her  protector.  But  come, 
Mr.  Balcombe ;  these  notions  are  too  oldfashioned 


GEORGE   BALCOMBE.  203 

for  our  friends  here.  Let  us  be  off,  and  discourse 
at  will  of  the  degeneracy  of  the  men  and  women 
of  modern  days." 

So  saying,  she  kissed  Ann,  courtesied  to  the 
rest,  and  giving  her  hand  to  Balcombe,  tripped 
away  to  her  carriage. 

The  evening  was  pleasant,  and  I  proposed  a 
walk  to  Ann.  She  coloured  slightly,  but  assented, 
when  a  glance  from  Jane  brought  the  blood  again 
to  her  face,  and  she  seemed  to  hesitate. 

"  Do  you  doubt  my  promise  ?"  said  I,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  No,  I  do  not,"  said  she,  firmly ;  adding,  after  a 
short  pause,  "  and  I  will  walk  with  you." 

"  I  have  never  seen  your  friend  Miss  Howard  in 
so  attractive  a  light  before,"  said  I,  as  soon  as  we 
had  left  the  house. 

"  She  is  a  noble  creature,"  said  Ann.  "  She  has 
as  little  of  selfishness,  and  as  much  zealous  devotion 
to  her  friends  as  human  nature  is  capable  of. 
You  have  never  seen  this  before,  because  you 
have  heretofore  seen  her  through  a  discolouring 
medium." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  I. 

"  I  suppose  not,"  replied  Ann ;  "but  I  can 
assure  you  that  she  has  as  much  in  common  with 
your  generous  friend  Mr.  Balcombe  as  befits  her 
sex." 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  I,  "  to  hear  the  approbation  of 
him  which  your  remark  implies." 

"  Of  him  !    Surely  approbation  is  quite  too  cold 


204  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

a  word  for  such  a  character,  even  in  the  mouth  of 
one  never  benefited  by  him.  But  I  must  be  dead 
to  gratitude  if  I  did  not  already  feel  a  warm  affec- 
tion for  a  man  who  has  perilled  his  life  in  our  ser- 
vice, and  whose  heart  seems  to  cleave  to  me  with 
a  father's  affection.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  known  him 
all  my  life,  and  am  already  disposed  to  give  him 
all  my  confidence,  as  to  a  father  or  elder  brother." 

"  You  will  find  it  well  placed,"  said  1.  "  A  truer 
friend  cannot  be ;  and  his  sagacity  and  wisdom 
make  him  the  safest  adviser  I  ever  knew.  The 
qualities  that  glitter  on  the  surface  of  his  character, 
brilliant  as  they  are,  are  of  little  value  compared 
to  his  intrinsic  worth." 

"  Poor  Margaret !"  said  Ann.  "  She  said  true, 
that  the  cultivated  selfishness  of  the  young  men  of 
this  day  unfits  them  to  mate  with  a  woman  capable 
of  genuine  feminine  devotion.  It  is  almost  a  pity 
Mr.  Balcombe  is  married." 

"  You  would  not  think  so  if  you  knew  his  wife," 
said  I.  "  I  have  no  mind  to  disparage  your  friend, 
but  I  am  not  sure  that  I  know  any  woman  worthy 
to  be  the  wife  of  George  Balcombe,  but  her  who 
is  so." 

I  now  gave  some  of  the  details  of  our  late  adven- 
tures for  the  purpose  of  illustrating  Mrs.  Bal- 
combe's  character. 

"  She  is  certainly  a  noble  woman,'*  said  Ann ; 
**  but  she  can  hardly  be  a  very  agreeable  acquaint- 
ance." 

"  I  found  her  very  much  so,"  said  I, "  as  soon  as 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE,  205 

I  became  an  acquaintance.  But  whether  I  ever 
should  have  known  her,  but  for  the  circumstances 
which  broke  down  her  reserve,  is  uncertain.  As 
to  your  solicitude  for  Miss  Howard,"  continued  I, 
"there  seems  no  great  call  for  that,  as  from  ap- 
pearances, she  and  her  cousin  Angus  are  at  last 
disposed  to  fulfil  the  anxious  wish  of  his  father. 
He  is  certainly  a  fine  young  man,  and  well  worthy 
of  any  woman." 

"  That  may  be,"  said  Ann  ;  "  but  old  Mr.  Doug- 
las will  never  see  the  accomplishment  of  that 
wish." 

"There  seems  to  be  a  perfect  understanding 
between  them,"  said  I. 

"  I  believe  there  is,"  she  replied,  "  but  not  such 
as  you  suppose.  They  have  a  great  affection  for 
each  other,  and  the  utmost  mutual  confidence^  but 
that  is  all.  I  profess  no  skill  in  such  matters ;  but 
knowing  Margaret  Howard  as  I  now  do,  it  appears 
to  me  that  any  one  may  discover  that  her  heart  is 
yet  untouched." 

"  Knowing  her  as  you  now  do,"  said  I,  marking 
her  emphasis  on  the  word.  "  You  have  then 
thought  otherwise  ?" 

She  coloured  deeply  at  this  question,  and  at  last 
replied  simply  that  she  had. 

"  And  whom,"  said  I,  "  did  you  suppose  to  be 
the  happy  man  ?" 

I  felt  her  relax  her  hold  on  my  arm  as  if  to  with- 
draw her's;  but  she  commanded  herself,  and  an- 
swered, with  an  effort  at  firmness, 

VOL.    II. S 


206 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


"  I  cannot  tell  you  that.  It  is  enough  to  say  that 
I  now  know  that  I  was  deceived." 

I  did  not  know  what  to  say  to  this.  I  was  con- 
scious that  I  had  rather  kept  my  promise  in  the 
letter  than  in  the  spirit ;  for  Ann  could  not  suppose 
me  to  be  ignorant  that  I  was  the  person  alluded 
to,  and  that  I  had  wiled  from  her  an  admission  that 
she  had  been  under  a  delusion  concerning  me 
which  was  now  removed.  I  felt  that  I  had  been 
guilty  of  a  breach  of  faith  ;  but  acknowledgment 
or  apology  would  but  make  the  matter  worse. 
But  though  I  reproached  myself,  I  did  not  fail  to 
enjoy  the  discovery  of  a  fact  which  might  explain 
her  former  conduct.  I  wished  to  ask  if  she  also 
supposed  the  attachment  of  Miss  Howard  recipro- 
cated, but  did  not  dare  to  go  so  far.  But  of  that  I 
could  hardly  entertain  a  doubt.  She  at  length 
broke  the  embarrassing  silence  by  some  question 
about  James  Scott,  and  this  led  to  a  conversation 
of  indifferent  matters,  in  which  she  got  rid  of 
the  slight  reserve  that  had  shown  itself  for  the 
moment. 

Balcombe  returned  late,  and  with  a  mind  ob- 
viously full  of  something ;  but  showed  no  disposi- 
tion to  talk.  As  soon  as  we  went  to  our  room  he 
began. 

«'  Well,  William  ;  I  have  had  a  long  and  inter- 
esting conversation  with  Miss  Howard." 

"  And  what  have  you  learned  ?"  asked  I. 

"  Much  that   concerns  you,"  was  the  reply. 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  207 

"  And  nothing  that  has  not  increased  my  admira- 
tion of  her." 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,"  said  I,  "  unbuckle  your 
mail,  then,  and  give  us  the  news." 

"  Softly,  softly,  my  dear  fellow.  I  must  begin 
at  the  beginning,  if  I  can  find  where  it  is,  and  tell 
my  story  as  she  did,  so  as  to  do  justice  to  all 
parties." 

"  Then  tell  it  in  your  own  way/'  said  I.  "  Let 
me  have  your  conversation." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Balcombe,  "  we  were  hardly 
seated  before  she  began. 

" '  Mr.  Balcombe,'  said  she, '  you  don't  deserve 
half  the  credit  for  sagacity  that  your  friend  Napier 
gives  you,  if  you  haven't  found  out  that  I  had  a 
design  in  thus  laying  violent  hands  upon  you/ 

" *  To  say  the  truth,'  said  I,  *  I  had  some  suspi- 
cion of  the  sort ;  but,  as  I  feared  no  ill,  I  was  will- 
ing to  let  time  make  proof.' 

"  *  I  mean  nothing  but  good,*  said  she,  *  to  you 
and  your's ;  but  I  have  that  to  say  which  I  would 
have  to  reach  the  ears  of  your  friend  Mr.  Napier, 
just  as  I  say  it.  But  there  would  be  an  impropriety 
in  speaking  or  writing  to  him.  A  third  person  is 
the  proper  filter  to  take  off  any  indelicacy  from 
my  communication.' 

"  She  began  then  by  telling  me  just  what  I  have 
heard  from  you  about  Douglas  and  your  sister. 

" '  Angus  and  I,'  said  she,  *  are  first  cousins  ;  we 
have  been  brought  up  almost  together,  and  our 
intimacy  has  never  been  interrupted.  I  was  soon 


208  GEORGE    FALCOHBE. 

apprised  of  what  had  been  proposed,  and  he  and 
I  soon  came  to  a  perfect  understanding.  He  is  a 
fine,  noble  spirited  youth,  in  whose  happiness  I  take 
a  deep  interest,  and  I  saw  that  his  union  with  Jane 
was  essential  to  it.  My  brother,  on  a  visit  to  Oak- 
wood,  became  enamoured  of  Ann.  My  confidence 
in  his  taste  and  judgment  disposed  me  to  think 
favourably  of  any  woman  whom  he  might  select 
as  a  wife,  and  I  was  eager  to  make  an  acquaint- 
ance with  her.  I  therefore  readily  acquiesced  in 
his  proposal  to  transfer  our  residence  to  Oakwood 
for  a  season,  and  my  mother  was  easily  drawn  into 
the  measure.  Angus  immediately  struck  at  the 
opening ;  and,  having  taken  Henry  into  our  confi- 
dence, it  was  arranged  that  my  cousin  should,  with 
my  connivance,  commence  such  a  course  of  atten- 
tion to  me,  as  should  make  his  father  wish  him  to 
become  one  of  our  party.  He  was  impatient  to 
see  Jane,  to  show  her  that  he  had  not  changed, 
and  to  assure  himself  of  her  constancy.  Besides, 
he  was  not  without  a  hope,  that  Henry's  success, 
of  which  (admiring  him  as  we  do)  we  had  little 
doubt,  would  reconcile  his  father  to  his  own  mar- 
riage with  Jane  ;  so  that  on  every  account  we 
were  desirous  to  do  what  we  might  in  support  of 
my  brother's  suit.  Accordingly,  after  a  little  deli- 
cate and  well-managed  flirtation,  of  which  we 
took  care  to  have  but  few  witnesses  besides  my 
uncle  Douglas,  the  scheme  was  proposed  by  him, 
and  we  all  came  together  to  Oakwood. 
** '  I  at  once  set  myself  to  study  the  character  of 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  209 

Ann.  I  saw  that  she  experienced  a  pure  and  child- 
like pleasure  in  Henry's  attentions,  but  that  as  yet 
love  entered  not  into  it.  I  was  sure  that  if  her 
heart  were  ripe  for  love,  she  had  not  yet  found  it 
out,  and  I  admonished  my  brother  to  make  his  ap- 
proaches with  great  caution.  This  he  did,  and 
displayed  so  much  address  and  delicacy  in  the 
midst  of  all  his  tenderness,  that,  partiality  aside, 
I  had  no  idea  that  any  disengaged  heart  could 
withstand  him.  At  length  he  declared  his  wishes, 
but  was  careful  not  to  press  for  a  peremptory  an- 
swer. The  poor  little  flattered  thing  was  so  re- 
lieved by  this,  that  I  wondered  she  did  not  love  him 
for  very  gratitude.  This  feeling  did  indeed  ope- 
rate so  far  as  to  make  her  receive  his  attentions 
with  as  much  kindness,  and  very  little  more  embar- 
rassment than  before.  In  the  mean,  time,  my  sur- 
prise at  Henry's  want  of  success  set  me  to  looking 
about  for  a  cause,  and  I  soon  saw  enough  of  Mr. 
Napier  to  suspect  that  I  had  found  one.  The  de- 
votion of  Henry  to  Ann,  and  of  Angus  to  Jane, 
had  thrown  us  much  together.  I  found  him  one 
that  a  girl  brought  up  in  the  house  with  could 
hardly  fail  to  love,  and  yet  might  well  Jove  with- 
out knowing  it/ 

"  I  will  not  tell  you,  William,  the  points  in  your 
character  which  led  Miss  Howard  to  this  conclu- 
sion. 

" '  But  I  saw,'  said  she, '  that  Ann  had  not  found 
out  her  own  secret.     She  was  pleased  and  satis- 
fied with  Henry's  attentions  ;  and  I  was  not  sorry 
s  2 


210  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

that  circumstances  put  it  in  my  power  to  prevent 
much  interruption  from  Mr.  Napier.  I  soon  found 
that  he  was  ill  at  ease.  His  wandering  glances 
presently  told  me  that  if  Ann  did  not  know  her 
own  secret,  he  had  at  length  discovered  his  ;  and 
being  sure  of  this,  I  did  not  apprehend  that  I  could 
do  him  any  injury  by  receiving,  as  if  from  choice, 
his  enforced  attentions.  In  doing  this  I  did  not 
dream  of  anything  more  than  to  leave  Henry 
without  interruption  to  pursue  his  well-managed 
course  of  attention  to  Ann,  and  lo  give  her  time  to 
wean  herself  from  a  habit  of  admiring  and  lean- 
ing on  her  cousin,  which  might  in  time  give  birth 
to  love.  As  to  Douglas,  I  had  discharged  him 
from  all  attendance  on  me  as  soon  as  we  arrived 
at  Oakwood  ;  but  still  it  was  well  the  gallantry  of 
Napier  should  always  be  at  hand  to  excuse  him  to 
others  for  neglecting  me.  Having  established 
things  on  this  footing,  I  quietly  awaited  what 
seemed  to  me  the  inevitable  result  of  Henry's 
attentions  to  Ann.  In  this,  however,  I  was  disap- 
pointed. The  interruption  in  our  intercourse  oc- 
casioned by  the  death  of  Mr.  Napier  may  have  had 
a  disastrous  influence.  But  I  was  led  to  look  fur- 
ther back  for  the  cause  of  his  failure,  and  at  length 
suspecj£.d  that  the  place  which  her  cousin  occupied 
in  Ann's  heart,  seeming  as  it  did  to  her  but  that  of 
a  brother,  was  in  truth  that  of  a  favoured  lover. 
On  our  return  to  Oakwood,  her  manifest  anxiety 
concerning  Mr.  Napier  exceeding  that  of  his  sis- 
ters, and  at  the  same  time  expressed  more  guard- 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  211 

edly ;  the  unusual  flush  of  her  cold  cheek  produced 
by  any  allusion  to  him  ;  her  frequent  abstraction, 
and  occasional  unconsciousness  of  my  brother's 
presence,  left  little  doubt  in  my  mind  that  my  con- 
jecture had  been  right. 

"  *  At  first  I  saw  this  with  no  feeling  but  that  of 
regret  on  Henry's  account.  But  a  circumstance 
soon  occurred  which  showed  that  it  touched  me 
on  a  more  delicate  point.  I  had  of  late  observed 
that  that  amiable,  ingenuous  girl  Laura  Napier 
had  become  very  much  attached  to  me.  She  was 
always  hanging  about  me,  and  always  ready  to 
perform  the  little  offices  of  a  younger  sister,  with  a 
zeal  which  showed  that  she  found  great  pleasure 
in  them.  Not  long  ago  she  begged  me  to  let  her 
take  down  my  hair  and  comb  it,  and  while  thus 
employed  she  kept  me  amused  with  her  playful 
rattle.  At  length  she  ventured  to  say  something 
of  the  pleasure  with  which  she  looked  forward  to 
the  time  when  I  was  to  be  her  sister.  I  started  at 
this  with  a  vehemence  that  alarmed  her,  and  in 
her  eagerness  to  excuse  herself,  she  assured  me 
that  the  whole  family  considered  Mr.  Napier  and 
me  as  engaged.  You  may  believe  that  this  in- 
formation convinced  me  that  in  my  care  of  others 
I  ought  to  have  been  more  chary  of  myself.  My 
inquiries  of  Laura  gave  me  no  clew  to  the  source 
or  grounds  of  this  tale,  and  I  determined  to  seek  it 
of  one  who  might  give  more  satisfactory  informa- 
tion. 

"  '  I  accordingly  inquired  of  Jane,  who  knew 


212 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE, 


nothing,  it  seemed,  of  the  origin  of  the  rumour^ 
but  had  had  no  doubt  of  its  truth.  This  was 
provoking.  Why  did  she  not  doubt  it?  Oh, 
nobody  doubted  it. 

"«  "  Does  not  Ann  doubt  it?" 

"  *  "  Certainly  not :  how  should  she  ?  William 
is  handsome  and  agreeable ;  he  has  been  very 
attentive  ;  and  really,"  said  she,  "  he  has  been  so 
well  received  that  I  could  not  doubt  it." 

"  *  "  And  Ann  ?"  repeated  I ;  "  Does  she  believe 
it  ?  can  she  believe  it  ?" 

"  *  Saying  this,  I  was  going  in  quest  of  her,  when 
Jane  said,  "  Hadn't  you  better  not  undeceive  her? 
It  would  distress  her  very  much.  Her  heart  is 
set  on  the  connection,  and  the  expectation  of  it 
must  certainly  dispose  her  more  favourably  to  an 
alliance  with  your  brother." 

"  *  This  staggered  me,  but  I  presently  reflected 
that  in  such  matters  a  woman's  first  duty  is  to  her- 
self, not  as  self,  but  as  one  of  the  guardians  of  her 
sex's  honour.  I  accordingly  sought  out  Ann,  and 
asked  her  how  she  had  heard  the  report.  She 
seemed  much  agitated,  and  instead  of  answering 
my  question,  asked  in  turn  why  I  had  put  it. 

"  *  "  Because,"  said  I, "  I  have  learned  that  it  had 
reached  you,  and  am  anxious  to  know  its  source, 
as  well  as  anxious  to  contradict  it  effectually." 

"  *  "  Contradict  it !"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  coun- 
tenance of  eager  surprise,  while  every  feature 
quivered  with  emotion,  and  she  trembled  in  every 
joint.  "  Is  it  not  then  true  ?w 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

11 1  "  True  !"  said  I ;  "  certainly  not.  I  never 
had  a  serious  thought  of  Mr.  Napier,  and  I  doubt 
if  he  ever  thought  of  me  at  all.  Certainly,  if  he 
did,  he  never  told  me  so." 

" '  While  I  spoke,  she  gazed  at  me  with  a  look 
of  intense  interest,  and  as  I  uttered  the  last  words, 
her  colour  flushed  over  cheek,  and  neck,  and  brow,, 
then  faded,  then  returned,  and  at  last  she  burst 
into  tears,  and  hid  her  face  in  my  bosom.  Jane 
would  have  said  she  was  very  much  distressed. 
But  there  was  no  mistaking  those  tears.  They 
flowed  from  the  rapture  of  reviving  hope.  I  did 
not  probe  her  heart  with  words.  I  saw  it  plainly 
enough.  I  contented  myself  with  pursuing  my 
original  inquiry,  and  found  that  a  foolish  girl,  who 
pretended  to  be  my  confidential  friend,  had  told 
Jane  that  I  had  acknowledged  a  partiality  for  Mr. 
Napier.  This  was  wrong  in  Jane,  Mr.  Balcombe. 
Doubtless  the  silly  thing  had  told  her  so ;  but  she 
must  have  known  that  I  would  repose  such  confi- 
dence nowhere,  and  certainly  not  with  such  a  per- 
son as  that. 

"  *  From  this  time  I  saw  that  Ann  was  an 
altered  being.  She,  was  obviously  more  happy. 
Her  colour,  which  had  faded,  resumed  its  fresh- 
ness ;  her  look  of  abstraction  now  became  that  of 
one  that  chews  the  cud  only  of  sweet  fancies  ;  her 
eye  brightened ;  her  smile  became  spontaneous ; 
and,  though  less  volatile,  she  was  obviously  more 
cheerful.  Mrs.  Napier,  who  had,  with  all  a  mo- 
ther's solicitude,  remarked  a  former  change  of  the 


214  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

opposite  character,  one  day  spoke  of  this  to  me  in 
terms  which  led  me  to  hint  my  suspicion  of  the 
cause.  Judge  my  astonishment  when  she  assured 
me  that  I  must  be  mistaken  ;  as  William,  not  long 
before  he  left  home,  had  addressed  Ann,  and  was 
not  only  rejected,  but  condemned  to  be  for  ever 
silent  on  that  subject.  I  was  the  more  amazed, 
because  this  conduct  was  so  much  the  reverse  of 
that  observed  towards  my  brother.  I  could  only 
account  for  it  by  supposing  that  she,  believing  that 
idle  rumour  about  me,  had  considered  Mr.  Napier 
as  having  trifled  unjustifiably  with  her  feelings. 
Further  inquiry  showed  that  her  conduct  on  the 
occasion  had  been  that  of  one  who  felt  herself 
injured  and  insulted. 

"'Now,  Mr.  Balcombe/  continued  the  young 
lady,  '  I  find  that  with  none  but  good  intentions  I 
have  suffered  myself  to  be  made  an  instrument 
of  much  mischief.  Mr.  Napier  and  Ann  have 
both  been  rendered  unhappy,  and  my  poor  bro- 
ther has  been  kept  wearing  his  heart  out  in  a  vain 
pursuit.  Worse  than  vain  it  might  have  been,  had 
Ann,  in  the  desperation  of  her  wounded  feelings, 
deserted,  and  even  insulted,  as  she  supposed,  by 
the  man  she  loved,  thrown  herself  into  Howard's 
arms,  they  must  have  been  wretched.  Notwith- 
standing what  I  said  the  other  night,  I  do  think 
there  are  hearts  that  can  know  no  second  love. 
Ann  Napier's  is  one  of  them.  My  first  duty  was 
to  undeceive  my  brother.  He  could  hardly  be  ex- 
pected to  take  this  kindly ;  and  when  I  advised 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  215 

him  to  urge  for  a  decisive  and  final  answer,  he 
seemed  as  if  he  thought  I  had  turned  against  him. 
But  he  knows  me  better ;  though  it  is  natural  he 
should  feel  hurt  when  he  sees  me  (though  he  ac- 
knowledges it  to  be  my  duty)  seeking  to  repair 
my  error  at  his  expense.  I  at  length  prevailed 
with  him  to  put  his  fate  to  the  final  test ;  and  to- 
day he  did  so,  with  the  result  I  had  anticipated. 
He  is  now  out  of  the  field,  but  Napier  will  hold 
himself  bound  in  honour  to  his  promised  silence, 
and  from  Ann  he  will  certainly  never  get  a  hint 
to  speak.  Now  it  is  for  me  who  made  this  diffi- 
culty to  remove  it,  and  I  invoke  your  aid  in  doing 
so.  I  mistake  very  much  if  you  will  be  long  at 
a  loss  to  bring  together  two  young  people  whose 
hearts  are  panting  to  fly  into  each  other's  bosoms.' " 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Mercutio,  thou  consort'st  with  Romeo. 

SHAKSPEAKE. 

"  THIS,"  continued  Balcombe,  "  is  the  substance 
of  Miss  Howard's  communication.  Now  go  to 
sleep  and  dream  about  it,  and  to-morrow  we  will 
think  what  is  to  be  done." 


GEORGE  BALCOMBE. 

I  would  at  once  have  entered  into  the  discussion 
of  measures,  but  Balcombe  cut  me  short  by  saying, 
"  What  you  are  bound  not  to  do  in  person,  you 
have  no  right  to  do  by  another.  I  am  free  to  act 
as  I  please.  Leave  me  so,  and  beware  of  proposing 
that  I  shall  do  anything  ;  for  whatever  you  may  pro- 
pose, that  I  certainly  will  never  do." 

I  could  reply  nothing  to  this.  I  saw  that  with 
all  Balcombe's  zeal  for  my  happiness,  his  aid  was 
like  some  talismans  of  which  we  read  in  oriental 
tales,  the  virtue  of  which  was  lost  to  the  possessor 
the  moment  fear  entered  his  heart,  or  any  tempta- 
tion turned  him  from  the  straight  line  of  duty.  I 
therefore  obeyed  him  so  far  as  to  hold  my  tongue. 
Whether  I  slept  much  the  reader  will  judge. 

After  breakfast  the  next  day,  when  my  mother 
went  to  her  household  affairs,  and  Laura  to  her 
lessons,  Balcombe  detained  Ann  in  the  parlour  by 
some  slight  pretence,  and  then  kept  her  in  chat  too 
busily  to  let  her  get  away.  I  would  have  left 
them,  but  I  found  that  Jane,  with  a  countenance 
of  great  demureness,  was  fixing  herself  to  her 
work,  with  a  full  purpose  to  sit  them  out.  I  loi- 
tered a  moment,  trying  to  devise  some  means  to 
draw  her  away,  when  Balcombe,  with  his  accus- 
tomed directness,  said  to  Ann, 

*'  I  wish  to  have  some  private  conversation  with 
you,  my  dear.  Where  shall  it  be  ?" 

Jane  instantly  rose,  and  without  raising  her 
eyes,  began  to  gather  up  her  work,  saying  some- 
thing about  leaving  the  room  to  them,  in  that  pecu- 


GEORGE    BALOOMBE.  217 

liar  tone  which  is  meant  to  be  soft  and  complying, 
but  which,  proceeding  from  the  lips  of  a  woman,  is 
a  sound  that  no  practised  ear  will  ever  hear  with- 
out some  apprehension  of  mischief.  For  my  part, 
I  seized  my  gun,  and  betook  myself  to  the  fields  ; 
but  whether.  I  saw  hare  or  partridge  that  day, 
the  reader  knows  as  well  as  I.  As  little  do  I  know 
how  long  I  was  out.  It  might  have  been  a  cen- 
tury, or  perhaps  not  more  than  half  as  much.  It 
certainly  was  no  short  time,  though  I  am  not  sure 
that  the  sun  had  moved  more  than  fifteen  or  twenty 
degrees  before  I  returned  to  the  house.  As  I  en- 
tered, Balcombe  opened  the  parlour  door  and  met 
me  with  a  smile  and  an  extended  hand.  He  took 
mine,  led  me  into  the  room, drew  back,  and  closed 
the  door  after  him.  Ann  was  there,  and  alone. 

What  passed  ?  That,  reader,  you  shall  never 
know.  As  a  stranger,  you  cannot  complain  that 
you  have  not  enough  of  my  confidence.  I  know 
that  there  is  precedent  of  high  authority  in  favour 
of  my  telling  you  of  every  word,  and  look,  and 
tear,  and  blush.  But  you  must  be  content  to  know 
that  I  left  the  room  the  plighted  lover  of  one  to 
whom,  the  day  before,  I  had  not  been  at  liberty  to 
speak  even  the  name  of  love. 

What  passed  for  some  days  after  this  I  do  not 
remember.  My  brain  was  in  a  whirl,  my  mind 
in  a  tumult  of  bliss.  I  was  greeted  with  the  warm- 
est gratulations  by  my  dear  mother,  who  lost  sight 
of  all  prudential  considerations  in  contemplating 
the  happiness  of  her  children.  Laura  was  per- 

VOL.  II. T 


218  GEORGE   EALCOMBE. 

fectly  wild  with  delight,  and  even  Jane  felt  the 
necessity  of  trying  to  seem  glad.  She  made  a 
poor  hand  of  it.  She  was  gloomy  and  sad,  and  I 
thought  it  cost  her  an  effort  not  to  be  peevish  and 
morose.  , 

The  cause  of  this,  perhaps,  may  have  been  that 
she  saw  nothing  of  Douglas.  During  our  last  visit 
to  Oakwood,  he  had  paid  her  little  attention,  and 
seemed  wholly  occupied  with  his  attractive  cousin. 
Several  days  had  now  passed,  and  he  had  not 
come  near  us.  I  had  no  right  to  complain  that 
under  such  circumstances  Jane  thought  more  of 
herself  than  of  me.  At  last  he  came,  but  in  attend- 
ance on  Miss  Howard.  I  was  sitting  with  Ann 
in  the  little  parlour  when  they  drove  to  the  door. 
She  leaped  from  the  barouche,  and  while  he  staid 
to  give  some  orders  about  the  horses,  ran  into  the 
house,  and  entered  the  parlour. 

One  glance  at  Ann's  blushing  countenance  told 
her  all.  She  stopped,  and  looked  first  at  one  and 
then  at  the  other,  until  Ann,  advancing,  took  her 
hand.  Miss  Howard,  without  speaking,  stooped 
to  kiss  her,  when  the  timid  girl  suddenly  bowed 
her  head,  and  hid  it  in  the  bosom  of  her  friend. 
Miss  Howard  caressed  her  tenderly,  and  then 
looking  up  at  me,  with  a  smile  and  a  tear,  said, 
«  All  right !  all  well !  Thank  God  !  thank  God  !" 
She  extended  her  hand  to  me,  and  had  just  dis- 
engaged herself  from  Ann's  embrace,  when  Doug- 
las entered.  The  family  now  collected,  all  but 
Jane.  After  a  while  I  went  to  look  for  her. 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  219 

Nobody  wanted  to  see  her.  she  said.  Besides, 
she  had  never  permitted  herself  to  sit  in  the  par- 
lour since  the  day  she  had  been  dismissed  from 
thence  so  cavalierly.  I  tried  to  rally  away  her 
ill  humour,  and  told  her  she  was  not  sure  she 
might  not  have  her  turn  in  the  exclusive  use  of 
that  room  before  night. 

As  it  chanced,  I  had  an  opportunity  to  fulfil  my 
prediction.  In  the  course  of  the  evening,  finding 
none  but  her,  Douglas,  and  myself  in  the  room,  I 
went  out,  after  casting  a  significant  look  at  her, 
which  she  answered  by  biting  her  lip,  and  looking 
anything  but  amiable.  What  passed  I  never  knew. 
She  was  plainly  out  of  humour  with  Douglas,  and 
a  lover's  quarrel,  with  its  usual  consequences,  was 
a  matter  of  course.  When  we  met  again,  I  saw 
that  a  perfect  understanding  had  been  restored, 
but  the  countenance  of  Douglas  showed  that  some 
unpleasant  feeling  was  on  his  mind ;  while  Jane, 
with  the  complacency  of  secret  satisfaction,  de- 
murely kept  her  eyes  upon  her  work. 

Once  or  twice  I  saw  her  glance  at  Balcombe 
with  some  slight  expression  of  malicious  pleasure, 
for  which  I  was  unwilling  to  account  by  attributing 
such  a  feeling  to  the  part  he  had  acted  between 
me  and  Ann.  Perhaps  he  had  incurred  her  dis- 
pleasure by  taking  less  notice  of  her  than  of  either 
her  cousin  or  sister.  But  the  grounds  of  his  attach- 
ment to  Ann  were  natural  and  had  been  openly 
avowed.  No  invidious  distinction  was  implied  in 
his  preference  of  one  with  whom  he  had  been 


220  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

domesticated  when  a  child.  As  to  Laura,  she  had 
taken  to  Balcombe  at  first  sight,  and  her  playful 
manners  had  long  removed  every  feeling  of 
strangeness  on  his  part.  Jane,  on  the  contrary, 
not  only  to  him  but  to  every  person,  bore  herself 
habitually  with  an  air  which  not  only  forbade  any 
familiar  approach  to  herself,  but  seemed  to  rebuke 
it  between  others.  She  had  therefore  no  right  to 
complain,  or  be  hurt  that  she  did  not  receive  more 
of  his  attention  than  he  had  reason  to  believe  would 
be  acceptable  to  herself.  But  perhaps  she  thought, 
as  I  sometimes  did,  that  Balcombe  had  looked  on 
her  with  an  air  of  suspicion,  and  had  tasked  his 
keen  sagacity  to  find  out  what  part  she  might  have 
had  in  weaving  the  tangled  web  which  he  had  set 
himself  to  unravel.  But  this  was  now  past ;  and 
having  accomplished  his  object  he  had  thrown  him- 
self into  our  amusements  and  conversations  like  a 
playful  child,  forgetful  of  the  past,  reckless  of  the 
future,  and  intent  only  on  the  present  moment. 
An  occasional  allusion  to  his  wife  and  child  alone 
showed  that  he  had  a  thought  or  feeling  not  in 
common  with  us  all.  Them  he  was  impatient  to 
see ;  but  the  interval  between  the  adjustment  of 
my  little  affair  with  Ann,  and  the  session  of  the 
chancery  court  at  Fredericksburg,  was  too  short 
for  a  visit  to'  them.  It  was  his  wish,  too,  to  bring 
them  to  see  us,  but  the  unsettled  condition  of  our 
affairs  forbade  that. 

At  a  late  hour  Douglas  returned  to  Oakwood, 
leaving  Miss   Howard.     The  next  morning   he 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  221 

came  back,  and  handed  her  a  letter  from  her  bro- 
ther. She  seemed  a  good  deal  moved  while  read- 
ing it,  but  presently  called  for  the  barouche  and 
prepared  to  go  home.  The  movement  was  so  un- 
expected as  to  excite  some  solicitude,  with  earnest 
remonstrances  from  our  whole  party  against  her 
departure.  Jane  seemed  particularly  uneasy,  and 
pressed  so  eagerly  to  know  the  cause  of  Miss 
Howard's  sudden  departure,  that  I  saw  she  hoped 
to  obtain,  by  that  means,  a  sight  of  the  letter  that 
occasioned  it.  She  was  not  gratified,  however ; 
and  I  thought  the  young  lady  met  her  expostula- 
tions with  an  air  in  which  there  was  something  of 
reproach.  At  length  Jane  made  up  to  Douglas, 
and  I  thought  she  asked  the  explanation  of  him. 
His  answer  seemed  to  increase  her  uneasiness, 
and  in  the  close  of  the  conference  I  thought  I  heard 
him  say, 

"  We  could  not  have  anticipated  any  such  thing ; 
but  his  feelings  are  so  wrought  up  that  he  cannot 
stop  on  any  middle  ground.  But  this  will  not  pre- 
vent my  seeing  you  as  often  as  possible,  though 
not  so  often  as  heretofore." 

They  now  left  us  to  wonder  and  guess ;  for  Miss 
Howard  displayed  great  emotion  at  parting,  ex- 
pressing strongly  in  some  way  her  feelings  towards 
each  of  us ;  affectionate  reverence  for  my  mother, 
the  highest  respect  for  Balcombe,  kindness  to  me, 
fondness  to  Laura,  the  most  melting  tenderness  to 
Ann,  and  a  something  the  reverse  of  all  these  to 
Jane.  This  last,  however,  was  only  manifested 

T2 


222  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

so  far  as  a  lady  may  properly  permit  herself  to 
display  such  feelings. 

The  very  next  day,  in  riding  out,  Balcombe  and 
I  met  Howard.  He  looked  wretchedly,  was  much 
reduced,  and  the  momentary  flush  which  passed 
over  his  face  at  the  first  encounter  was  succeeded 
by  ashy  paleness.  His  salutation  to  me  was 
friendly,  though  I  saw  that  he  shrank  from  the 
touch  of  a  favoured  rival's  hand.  To  Balcombe 
he  merely  bowed  with  stately  coldness,  which 
seemed  unnoticed  by  him.  I  now  expressed  my 
regret  that  we  had  seen  so  little  of  him,  reminded 
him  of  our  long  visit,  and  pressed  him  to  return  it. 
To  all  this  he  answered  evasively  at  first ;  but  at 
length  said, 

"  I  perceive  that  my  sister  did  not  deliver  my 
message  yesterday.  It  was  not  exactly  suited  to 
a  lady's  mouth,  but  she  might  have  handed  you 
my  note.  Did  she  do  so  ?" 

44  She  did  not.  What  message  could  she  have 
been  charged  with  which  should  have  prevented 
me  from  saying  anything  that  I  have  now  said  f " 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  said  Howard,  gravely.  "  I 
charged  her  to  give  you  an  assurance  of  my  con- 
tinued esteem  and  friendship,  but  to  say  to  you 
that  I  could  neither  visit  in  person,  nor  permit  her 
to  visit  at  a  house,  where  we  must  meet  on  equal 
terms,  and  treat  as  a  gentleman,  an  impertinent 
intermeddler  in  other  men's  affairs." 

I  was  completely  thunderstruck  at  these  words  ; 
and  Balcombe,  with  all  his  quickness,  did  not  seem 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  223 

at  once  to  understand  them.    As  soon  as  he  did 
he  said,  with  perfect  calmness, 

"  If  I  could  perceive  any  motive,  sir,  that  you 
can  have  to  fasten  a  quarrel  on  me,  I  should  sup- 
pose that  remark  was  meant  to  apply  to  me." 

"  You  have  no  concern  with  my  motives,  sir," 
said  Howard.  "  It  is  enough  for  you  to  know  that 
the  remark  was  meant  for  you.  But  I  have  no- 
need,  it  seems,  to  tell  you  that.  Conscience  was 
beforehand  with  me,  and  leaves  nothing  for  me  but 
to  punish  the  offence.'' 

'•  Mr.  Howard,"  replied  Balcombe,  speaking 
with  measured  deliberation,  "I  have  heretofore 
cherished  a  high  respect  for  you,  and  the  most  per- 
fect good  will.  I  should  now  be  loath  to  be  angry 
at  anything  you  may  say  under  the  influence  of  a 
distempered  excitement.  But  it  is  necessary  to 
admonish  you,  sir,  that  he  who  attempts  to  inflict 
unmerited  punishment,  must  himself  be  punished.''1 

During  the  first  part  of  Balcombe's  speech, 
Howard  had  permitted  his  countenance  to  relax 
into  cool  scorn,  at  what  perhaps  seemed  to  him  an 
ill-timed  expression  of  regard.  The  last  three 
words,  and  the  startling  coldness  of  the  emphasis 
upon  them,  completely  undeceived  him,  and  threw 
him  into  a  paroxysm  of  rage. 

"  Punishment,  sir  !"  exclaimed  he.  "  Do  you 
talk  of  punishment  to  me  T 

"  Such  punishment  as  you  talked  of  to  me,  sir, 
exactly  such  as  you  propose  to  inflict,  just  suck 
shall  recoil  on  your  own  head."  :  > 


224  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

'      £* 

"  I  understand  you,  sir,"  said  Howard.  "  For 
the  sake  of  a  paltry  advantage  you  would  affect  to 
consider  me  the  party  aggrieved.  You  are  wel- 
come to  it,  sir,  if  you  think  that  any  call  that  I  can 
make  upon  you  will  discharge  the  indignity  which 
I  have  just  hurled  in  your  teeth.  I  repeat,  sir, 
that  you  are  an  impertinent  intermeddler  in  other 
men's  affairs." 

"  And  I,"  said  Balcombe,  "  must  be  savage  in- 
deed if  I  could  wish  to  add  to  the  torture  which  a 
man  bred  in  the  school  of  honour  must  endure, 
when  he  comes  to  reflect  on  having  uttered  what 
he  knows  to  be  false" 

tl  False,  sir  1"  exclaimed  Howard,  foaming  with 
rage. 

'*  False,  sir,"  said  Balcombe.  "  Your  sister's 
ingenuousness  is  my  pledge  that  she  told  you  what 
passed  between  us.  You  know  of  my  relation  to 
Ann  and  William  Napier.  Therefore  you  know 
that  what  you  have  said  is  false" 

"  It  is  well,  sir,"  said  Howard,  recovering  him- 
self. "  I  am  glad  that  you  will  soon  know  that  I 
have  not  sought  to  withhold  the  advantage  which 
you  have  endeavoured  to  secure  by  this  inso- 
lence." 

He  now  touched  his  hat,  and  moved  on 
haughtily. 

•'  I  am  sorry  for  that  young  fellow,"  said  Bal- 
combe. "  His  life  has  been  one  of  such  prosperity, 
that  he  is  utterly  incapable  of  bearing  disappoint- 
ment. His  unquestioned  right  to  everything  he 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


225 


has  wanted  heretofore,  makes  him  imagine  that  he 
must  be  wronged  when  any  wish  is  not  gratified. 
He  is  obviously  quite  beside  himself;  and  if  I  am 
to  judge  by  his  last  speech,  he  has  already  entered 
on  some  course  of  measures  to  obtain  redress  for 
his  imagined  wrong." 

"  How  do  you  infer  that  ?"  asked  I. 

''He  seems,"  said  Balcombe,  "to  think  that  I 
wished  to  bandy  insults  with  him,  that  I  might 
secure  to  myself  the  privilege  of  the  challenged 
party,  and  this,  I  understand,  his  magnanimity  has 
already  accorded  to  me." 

"Good  God !"  exclaimed  I, "  is  it  possible  he  has 
been  guilty  of  such  folly  V9 

'•  The  man  is  mad,"  said  Balcombe,  "  and  must 
be  dealt  with  as  a  madman." 

Arriving  at  home,  we  found  Douglas  there.  He 
was  chatting  with  the  ladies,  and  seemed  more 
than  usually  gay.  Premonished,  however,  as  to 
the  purpose  of  his  visit,  I  discovered  that  he  had 
something  on  his  mind,  and  was  not  surprised  to 
see  him  seize  an  occasion  to  speak  apart  to  Bal- 
combe, and  slip  a  note  into  his  hand.  I  guessed 
the  nature  of  it,  and  soon  gave  the  latter  an  oppor- 
tunity to  speak  to  me. 

"  As  I  conjectured,"  said  he,  putting  the  paper 
into  my  hand.  "  This  pampered  child  of  fortune 
has  actually  summoned  me  to  the  field." 

"Surely,"  said  I,  "you  don't  mean  to  fight  on 
such  a  fool's  quarrel  as  this?" 

"  Had  I  not  been  personally  insulted  this  morn- 


226 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


ing,"  said  Balcombe,  "  I  might  have  thought  it  my 
duty  to  find  some  pacific  means  of  bringing  the 
young  man  to  his  senses  ;  as  it  is,  he  must  take  his 
course,  until  he  brings  up  with  the  consequences  of 
his  own  folly." 

"  Say  rather  madness/'  said  I.  "He  is  incapa- 
ble of  anything  so  silly  or  unjust  as  this  would  be, 
considered  as  the  act  of  a  man  in  his  right  mind. 
It  is  perfect  phrensy." 

"You  say  right,"  said  Balcombe,  "and  I  must 
therefore  not  indulge  the  idea  of  punishing  it.  But 
I  must  do  the  best  I  can  to  do  myself  justice  with- 
out hurting  him." 

"  And  what  will  that  be  ?"  asked  I. 

"  Let  time  and  circumstances  decide,"  said  Bal- 
combe. •'  Mean  time  speak  with  Douglas,  and  tell 
him,  that  after  what  passed  to-day,  I  waive  all  the 
privileges  of  a  challenged  party,  and  not  only  ac- 
cord to  Mr.  Howard  the  satisfaction  he  claims,  but 
leave  it  to  him  to  decide  on  all  the  circumstances 
of  time,  place,  and  mode." 

"  Do  you  not  make  an  important  and  gratuitous 
concession  1" 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Balcombe.  "  I  shall  not  fight 
to  humour  this  foolish  boy.  I  do  it  only  to  redeem 
my  own  honour,  and  that  is  not  to  be  done  by  half 
measures.  I  shall  therefore  give  him  all  the  game 
into  his  own  hands,  and  let  him  play  it  as  he  will." 

"  This  is  provoking,"  said  I,  "  that  one  man's 
folly  should  have  power  to  neutralize  the  wisdom 
of  another." 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  227 

"It  cannot  be  helped,"  said  Balcombe.  "As 
long  as  God  is  pleased  to  send  fools  into  the  world, 
they  must  be  treated  according  to  their  folly.  We 
must  defend  ourselves  against  all  noxious  animals, 
each  according  to  his  nature,  and  that  of  his  attack. 
A  helmet  is  no  defence  against  a  rattlesnake,  nor 
can  all  the  wisdom  of  man  protect  his  honour  from 
the  poisonous  breath  of  insult,  but  by  showing  a 
spirit  to  repel  and  chastise  it." 

"  Still,"  said  I,  "  at  your  time  of  life,  and  with 
your  established  character,  it  seems  superfluous  to 
incur  a  peril  which  may  leave  your  wife  and  child 
without  a  protector.  I  do  wish,  therefore,  you 
would  authorize  me  to  try  to  accommodate  this 
matter  with  Douglas." 

"  I  have  no  objection,"  said  Balcombe,  "  to  your 
listening  to  any  suggestions  Mr.  Douglas  may  make, 
but  none  must  come  from  us.  I  dare  say  he  begins 
to  repent  of  the  hand  he  has  had  in  this  foolish 
business,  but  he  must  pacify  his  own  conscience  as 
he  may.  As  to  my  wife,  were  the  peril  real  and 
formidable,  she  would  never  have  me  shrink  from 
it.  But  there  is  no  danger,  in  fact,  and  I  am  half 
ashamed  to  see  that  you  are  giving  me  great  credit 
for  coolness,  and  all  that,  when  there  is  nothing  at 
all  to  jar  my  nerves." 

"  The  idea  is  new  to  me,"  said  I,  "  that  there  is 
no  danger  in  such  rencounters." 

"  They  are  dangerous  enough,"  said  Balcombe, 
"but  little  so  to  a  man  whose  familiarity  with 
greater  dangers  has  given  him  command  of  his 


228  GEORGE   BALCOMBE. 

nerves  and  weapons,  unless  he  meets  one  having 
the  same  advantages." 

"  He  is  a  capital  shot,"  said  I. 

"  I  dare  say  he  is,"  replied  Balcombe ;  "  but  the 
skill  of  a  man  who  can  shake  with  rage  as  he  did 
to-day  is  of  little  avail.  He  who  cannot  command 
one  feeling  has  but  little  power  over  any  other.  I 
don't  mean  to  question  Mr.  Howard's  courage.  I 
have  no  doubt  he  is  brave.  But  the  bravery  which 
shall  enable  a  man  to  possess  all  his  faculties  in 
danger,  is  not  commonly  found  in  men  who  have 
never  had  to  contend  with  their  own  passions. 
But  enough  of  this.  You  must  see  Douglas  and 
arrange  preliminaries." 

I  did  see  Douglas,  and  communicated  Bal- 
combe's  resolution.  He  seemed  surprised  that  he 
should  renounce  his  privilege,  but  saw  the  suffi- 
ciency of  his  motive  as  soon  as  I  told  him  what  had 
passed  in  the  morning. 

''At  least,"  said  he,  "I  shall  give  Howard  as 
little  advantage  as  possible.  Indeed  none ;  as  I 
shall  name  pistols,  and  I  presume  Mr.  Balcombe  is 
a  good  shot.  But  I  must  ask  the  liberty  to  be 
present  when  you  communicate  the  result  of  our 
conference.  I  don't  expect  he  will  offer  any  ob- 
jection, but  I  may  discover  if  anything  is  unaccept- 
able to  him,  and  take  occasion  to  change  it." 

We  accordingly  made  a  formal  set  of  regulations 
by  which  the  proposed  combat  was  to  be  governed, 
of  which  each  took  a  copy,  and  giving  a  hint  to 
Balcombe,  we  all  walked  out  together.  I  then 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

handed  Balcombe  the  paper,  which  he  read  without 
suggesting  any  difficulty.  As  we  were  about  to 
separate,  however,  he  said, 

"Mr.  Douglas,  it  is  but  fair  to  tell  you  that  you 
have  perhaps  given  me  an  advantage  of  which  I 
ought  not  to  avail  myself.  I  see  you  limit  us  to 
fire  after  one  and  not  after  three.  Now,  sir,  I  am 
so  quick  a  shot,  that  this  short  notice  is  altogether 
in  my  favour." 

"  I  admire  your  frankness,  sir,"  said  Douglas, 
"  and  at  your  suggestion  will  substitute  five  for 
three ;  but  my  friend  will  perhaps  have  no  more 
occasion  for  the  additional  time  than  you.*7 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  Balcombe ;  and  drawing 
his  pistol  at  the  moment,  he  cocked  it,  threw  a 
dollar  into  the  air,  and  struck  it  as  it  fell.* 

"  You  see,"  said  he  to  the  astonished  Douglas, 
"  that  I  have  dealt  fairly  with  you.  This  is  not 
done  by  way  of  bravado,  to  be  reported  to  Mr. 
Howard.  On  the  contrary,  on  his  behalf  I  advise, 
and  on  my  own  I  beg,  that  you  will  say  nothing  of 
it  to  him." 

"  You  are  right,  sir,"  said  Douglas ;  "  I  will  be 
silent ;  and  the  time  shall  be  enlarged  from  three 
to  five." 

The  hour  was  now  fixed  for  twelve  o'clock  the 

*  There  is  no  exaggeration  in  this.  Lieutenant  Scott,  of  the 
United  States  army,  has  a  thousand  times  performed  feats  with 
the  pistol,  to  which  this  is  but  a  trifle.  The  fatal  result  of  duels 
so  common  in  the  western  country,  is  in  accordance  with  the  spe- 
cimen of  skill  here  given. 

VOL.  1J. U 


230  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

next  day,  during  our  morning  ride,  at  a  place  con- 
venient to  both  parties  ;  and  Balcombe,  leaving  us, 
returned  to  the  house  alone. 

"  This  is  a  foolish  business,  William,"  said 
Douglas. 

"  It  is  so,"  I  replied,  "  and  I  am  afraid  you  have 
had  some  hand  in  it." 

"  I  fear  so  too,"  said  he,  "  though  I  have  ear- 
nestly endeavoured  to  prevent  it.  But  there  is  a 
desperation  in  Howard's  feelings  that  will  hear  no 
reason.  I  had  no  idea  that  he  would  be  so  moved 
at  the  information  that  I  gave  him,  especially  as, 
his  own  pretensions  being  withdrawn,  he  had 
really  no  right  to  take  offence." 

"  And  what  information  did  you  give  him  1"  I 
asked. 

"  Only  what  Jane  told  me,  that  the  match  be- 
tween you  and  Ann  was  brought  about  by  Bal- 
combe's  interference." 

«'  And  did  Jane  tell  you  that  ?" 

"  Yes.  '  She  had  no  time  to  give  particulars ; 
but  when  I  inquired  how  the  barrier  which  pre- 
vented your  approach  to  Ann  on  that  subject  had 
been  removed,  she  gave  me  that  answer." 

"  Were  you  aware  of  that  barrier  V9  said  I. 

"  I  was." 

"  By  what  means  ?" 

"  From  Jane." 

What  could  I  say  to  this  ?  Jane  was  my  sister, 
and  Douglas  but  an  instrument  in  her  hands.  He 
had,  indeed,  made  her  fault  his  own,  but  /  could 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


231 


never  hold  him  responsible  for  it.  I  could  but  be 
mortified  and  hurt,  and  bear  my  mortification  in 
silence.  Indeed,  seeing  no  motive  for  Jane's  con- 
duct, and  not  suspecting  that  it  could  spring  from 
the  mere  wantonness  of  causeless  malice,  I  could 
only  attribute  it  to  indiscretion.  At  least  I  should 
have  been  glad  to  do  so ;  but  I  could  not  help 
remembering  that  her  whole  manner  showed  that 
she  took  little  interest  in  my  happiness,  and  had 
thoughts  and  feelings  of  her  own,  of  which  none 
of  the  family  were  made  partakers. 

My  uneasiness  at  the  probable  consequence  of 
the  adventure  was  of  course  increased  at  finding 
that  it  had  had  its  origin  in  the  folly  of  my  own 
sister,  and  I  thought  with  horror  of  the  punishment 
she  had  perhaps  prepared  for  herself.  Of  all  this 
I  could  say  nothing  to  Douglas.  His  esteem  was 
necessary  to  her  happiness,  and  the  care  of  that 
was  still  my  duty. 

He  left  us  after  dinner,  and  returned  to  Oak- 
wood.  I  passed  the  evening  and  night  in  great 
uneasiness ;  but  Balcombe  was  calm  and  cheerful 
as  usual,  and  slept  like  an  unweaned  child. 


232 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

Beware  of  entrance  into  quarrel ;  but,  being  iny 
Bear  it,  that  the  opposer  may  beware  of  you. 

SHAKSPEARB. 

IN  the  morning,  as  we  rode  together  to  the 
ground,  he  said  to  me, 

"  I  see  you  feel  some  solicitude  on  my  account, 
and  more,  perhaps,  on  that  of  your  friend  Howard. 
I  will  tell  you,  therefore,  that  I  don't  mean  to  hurt 
him,  or  to  let  him  hurt  me." 

"  The  first,"  said  I,  "  depends  on  your  will,  but 
how  will  you  guard  against  the  other  ?" 

"  Quite  easily,"  he  replied.  "  Our  pistols  are  to 
be  held  perpendicular  until  the  word  'one'  is  ut- 
tered ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  I  can  strike  his 
from  his  hand  before  he  can  bring  it  down." 

"  Will  you  not  throw  away  your  fire  on  a  tick- 
lish experiment  V  said  I. 

"  If  it  were  doubtful,"  replied  he,  "  I  would  not 
hazard  it.  I  would  make  his  arm  my  mark,  and. 
as  it  is,  I  shall  take  care  if  I  miss  the  pistol  to  strike 
that.  1  stipulated  to  have  the  time  prolonged  on 
purpose  that  he  might  not  be  hurried.  Douglas 
will  certainly  advise  him  not  to  contend  vainly  for 


GEORGE  BALCOMBE. 


233 


the  first  shot,  and  his  dependence  will  be  on  firing 
deliberately  after  drawing  my  fire.  So  be  under 
no  uneasiness  on  my  account/" 

We  reached  the  ground  in  time.  Douglas  and 
Howard  were  there  already.  The  latter  seemed 
quite  resolute,  but  his  air  was  haughty  and  con- 
strained, and  his  manner  rather  cold  than  simply 
cool.  Balcombe,  on  the  contrary,  was  bland,  cour- 
teous, and  easy  in  his  deportment,  displaying  the 
same  unpretending  simplicity  of  character  which 
always  graced  his  noblest  actions.  The  one  either 
required,  or  thought  he  required  an  effort  to 
command  himself.  The  other  made  none,  and 
needed  none. 

The  ground  was  measured,  and  the  parties 
posted.  Douglas  gave  the  word  ;  and  hardly  had 
it  reached  my  ear  before  I  heard  the  report  of  Bal- 
combe's  pistol,  and  saw  that  of  Howard  fly  from 
his  grasp.  I  perceived  by  the  twitching  of  his  fin- 
gers, that  the  hand  was,  for  the  time,  disabled  by 
the  jar,  but  he  immediately  asked  for  another  pistol. 
I  now  said,  in  a  low  voice,  to  Douglas, 

"  Are  you  aware  that  that  shot  was  not  acci- 
dental?" 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?"  said  he. 

"  I  mean  that  Balcombe  told  me  he  would  do 
exactly  what  he  has  done,  and  the  precision  of  his 
shot  shows  that  the  life  of  Howard  was  absolutely 
in  his  power." 

"  You  say  true,"  said  Douglas.  "  Howard  must 
know  this." 


234  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

He  accordingly  approached  his  friend,  and  told 
him  in  a  low  voice  what  I  had  said.  I  never  saw 
mortification  and  perplexity  greater  than  the  coun- 
tenance of  Howard  displayed  at  this  communica- 
tion. At  length  he  said  aloud, 

"  I  see,  gentlemen,  that  I  can  go  no  further  with 
this  business.  But  I  am  sensible  I  ought  not  to 
accept  my  life  at  Mr.  Balcombe's  hands  without 
making  an  apology,  which,  wronged  as  I  am,  I  do 
not  in  my  conscience  feel  to  be  due." 

On  hearing  this  I  turned  to  Balcombe,  whose 
countenance,  now  for  the  first  time,  showed  resent- 
ment. I  asked  him  privately  whether  he  would 
insist  on  an  apology  from  Howard. 

*'  None  is  necessary,"  said  he.  "  But  to  him  I 
do  not  say  so.  I  am  here  at  his  bidding.  I  prom- 
ised that  his  proposed  punishment  should  recoil 
on  his  own  head,  and  I  shall  not  help  him  to  escape 
or  mitigate  it." 

I  was  now  asked  if  Mr.  Balcombe  required  an 
apology,  and  replied  that  Mr.  Balcombe  had  no 
answer  to  give. 

"  What  did  he  propose  ?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  Did  he  wish  another  fire  ?" 

"  To  that  he  had  no  answer  to  give." 

The  perplexity  of  Howard  was  now  at  its 
height;  and  he  at  length  sought  to  escape  it  by 
saying  that  if  Mr.  Balcombe  would  do  nothing 
else,  the  business  for  which  he  came  must  go  on. 
To  this  Balcombe  only  replied  by  coolly  holding 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE-  235 

out  his  hand  to  me  for  another  pistol.  This,  of 
course,  I  did  not  give  him.  Howard  had  received 
his  before  his  friend  had  been  informed  of  Bal- 
combe's  intention  ;  but  Douglas  insisted  on  know- 
ing whether  Mr.  Balcombe  would  fire  at  Howard. 
To  this  question  he  received  no  answer,  and  then 
declared  that  the  affair  should  proceed  no  further. 
Howard  immediately,  with  an  impatient  gesture,, 
turned,  moved  a  step  or  two,  and  then  went  back 
to  Douglas.  Balcombe  remained  stationary.  Ob- 
serving this,  I  said  to  him,  that  Mr.  Howard  hav- 
ing left  his  post,  he  was  at  liberty  to  do  so  too. 

"  I  am  aware  of  what  Mr.  Howard  has  done," 
said  Balcombe  ;  "  but,  as  I  don't  mean  to  govern 
myself  by  his  example,  I  shall  stay  here  until  1 
am  discharged  by  the  voice  of  his  friend." 

"  You  are  discharged,  sir,"  said  Douglas,  giving 
his  hand  to  Balcombe.  "  You  have  done  all  that 
becomes  a  gentleman." 

"  Then,'*  said  Balcombe,  without  moving,  "  1 
have  done  nearly  all  that  I  proposed.  But  I  have 
kept  my  promise  to  Mr.  Howard  but  in  part. 
The  full  weight  of  the  punishment  he  proposed  for 
me  must  now  fall  on  his  own  head.  I  will  now  say 
that  I  ask  no  acknowledgment  from  him.  I  have 
no  need  to  ask  it.  If  he  is  satisfied  without  re- 
dressing the  wrong  he  imagines  he  has  received, 
or  acknowledging  that  which  he  has  actually  done, 
it  is  his  affair,  not  mine.  It  is  enough  for  me  to 
know  that  Mr.  Howard  can  have  no  doubt  that  the 
injurious  language  applied  by  him  to  me  is  not 


236  GEORGE  BALCOMBE. 

warranted  by  the  fact.  I  can  have  no  interest  in 
his  admitting  this.  That  is  a  matter  which  con- 
cerns his  own  honour.  Mine  is  clear." 

While  Balcombe  said  this,  Howard  stood  pale 
and  ghastly,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground. 
During  the  last  sentence  he  lifted  them,  and  glared 
wildly  on  Balcombe,  and  then  turning  fiercely  on 
Douglas,  said, 

"  How  is  this,  sir  ?  Is  it  in  your  keeping  that 
my  honour  has  been  tarnished  ?" 

"  Had  you  acted  by  my  advice,  Henry,"  replied 
Douglas,  "  I  should  hold  myself  bound  to  answer 
that  question." 

"  By'your  advice  !"  cried  Howard.  "  And  was 
it  not  by  your  advice  I  left  my  post  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Douglas ;  "  but  against  my  consent 
you  first  took  it.  But  if  you  think  your  honour 
can  be  cleared  by  lifting  your  hand  against  the 
life  of  one  who  has  given  you  yours,  you  can  re- 
sume it.  Mr.  Balcombe  is  still  at  his  post." 

"  My  life !  my  life  !"  cried  Howard,  furiously. 
"  And  is  it  that  paltry  boon,  the  enforced  accept- 
ance of  which  has  bound  me  hand  and  foot  to  sub- 
mit to  dishonour  and  insult?" 

Saying  this,  he  suddenly  turned  his  pistol  against 
himself.  It  was  not  cocked,  and  Douglas,  wrest- 
ing it  from  his  hand,  fired  it  in  the  air.  The  fury 
of  Howard  was  now  uncontrollable,  and  he  was 
restrained  with  difficulty  from  doing  mischief  to 
himself  or  others.  His  im  potent  struggles  at  length 
exhausted  the  violence  of  his  passion.  He  sunk 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


237 


into  a  sort  of  sullen  calm,  and  permitted  himself 
to  be  led  by  Douglas  to  his  barouche,  and  carried 
home. 

On  our  part  we  took  the  road  to  Craiganet. 
Balcombe  rode  a  while  in  silence,  and  at  length 
said, 

"  I  can  never  be  thankful  enough  to  Heaven  for 
having  been  enabled  to  save  myself  without  hurt- 
ing that  unfortunate  young  man.  I  only  regret 
having  said  so  much  before  I  discovered  his  situ- 
ation." 

"  What  have  you  discovered  ?"  I  asked. 

"  That  he  is  actually  mad,"  said  Balcombe; 
"  unequivocally  mad.  You  will  find  it  so.  His 
disappointment  has  shaken  his  brain,  and  his  phren- 
sy  would  naturally  turn  itself  against  you  or  me." 

This  idea  had  not  occurred  to  me  before  ;  but  I 
now  clearly  saw  that  it  was  well  founded,  and  re- 
joiced with  Balcombe  at  his  forbearance.  We 
reached  home  too  early  to  give  occasion  to  any 
remark  on  our  absence  ;  and,  but  for  my  concern 
on  account  of  poor  Howard,  I  should  again  have 
enjoyed  without  alloy  the  pleasures  which  flow 
from  the  perennial  fountain  of  love  avowed,  ap- 
proved, and  reciprocated.  There  was,  indeed,  an- 
other drawback.  I  could  not  consider  Jane  as  the 
intentional  author  of  the  mischief  that  had  been 
done,  but  her  cold  selfishness,  her  heartless  indif- 
ference to  the  happiness  of  her  friends,  her  ingrati- 
tude for  Balcombe's  generous  zeal  in  our  service, 
and  her  peevish  disposition  to  take  offence  at  every- 


238 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


thing  in  which  her  wishes  were  not  chiefly  con- 
sulted, were  sources  of  deep  mortification.  What 
effect  the  discovery  of  what  had  just  passed  might 
have  upon  her  I  could  not  anticipate.  It  could 
not  change  her  nature,  but  I  did  hope  it  might 
bring  her  to  a  sense  of  her  fault,  and  dispose  her 
to  live  in  future  not  so  wholly  for  and  in  herself. 
Her  very  attachment  to  Douglas  seemed,  indeed, 
but  a  modification,  and  a  slight  one,  of  her  ruling 
principle  of  self-love.  Decidedly  his  superior  in 
intellect,  she  exercised  over  him  an  influence 
which  seemed  exerted  only  for  her  own  gratifica- 
tion. Indeed,  her  chief  delight  appeared  to  be  in 
the  amusement  she  found  in  playing  on  his  feel- 
ings. She  was  well-pleased  to  make  him  happy  ; 
but  if  that  could  not  be,  the  next  best  thing  was  to 
make  him  miserable.  That  she  should  form  no 
part  in  the  happiness  or  misery  of  any  with  whom 
she  had  to  do,  and  of  him  especially,  was  what  she 
could  not  bear.  That  he  should  be  either  grave 
or  gay,  merry  or  mad,  or  neither,  without  her 
agency  or  in  spite  of  her,  was  nothing  short  of 
high  treason.  Poor  fellow!  the  spell  was  upon 
him,  and  he  could  not  break  it.  She  had  talent, 
accomplishment,  beauty,  address,  and  tact ;  and  it 
was  vain  to  expect  that  he  should  ever  escape 
from  her  toils.  He  was  much  her  junior,  too ;  a 
circumstance  that,  up  to  a  certain  age,  much  in- 
creases a  woman's  power  over  her  lover.  As  her 
brother,  I  was  glad  to  have  his  constancy  thus  se- 
cured; as  his  friend,  I  might  have  regretted  it. 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  239 

But,  though  an  amiable  and  honourable  young 
man,  he  had  not  the  qualities  which  I  would  choose 
in  a  friend,  though  I  could  not  object  to  him  as  a 
future  brother-in-law. 

We  saw  nothing  of  him  for  a  day  or  two,  nor 
did  we  hear  directly  from  Oakwood.  A  flying 
rumour,  indeed,  reached  us,  that  Howard  was  ill 
and  delirious.  Of  the  truth  of  this  Balcombe  and 
I  had  little  doubt ;  but  it  was  our  cue  to  seem  to 
disregard  it.  At  last  the  intelligence  came  direct 
in  a  note  from  Douglas  to  Jane,  excusing  his  ab- 
sence. My  mother  immediately  urged  me  to  visit 
Howard.  I  made  such  objections  as  I  could  with- 
out hinting  at  the  truth,  but  they  were  overruled. 
I  could  ascertain  whether  the  sight  of  me  might 
have  an  injurious  effect,  and  keep  myself  aloof,  if 
necessary.  I  went,  accordingly,  and  at  the  door 
was  met  by  Miss  Howard,  who  seemed  in  the 
greatest  distress. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Mr.  Napier,"  said  she,  u  what 
can  be  the  matter  ?  My  poor  brother  raves  con- 
tinually about  Ann,  and  you,  and  Mr.  Balcombe, 
and  dirks,  and  pistols,  and  duels ;  and  seems,  at 
times,  bent  even  on  self-destruction.  Surely  he 
has  not  been  so  unreasonable  as  to  quarrel  with 
you?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  I,  "  I  have  seen  him,  and  we 
parted  on  the  most  friendly  terms." 

"  His  pique  against  Mr.  Balcombe,"  said  Miss 
Howard,  "is  the  most  unaccountable  thing;  and  if 
it  is  not  altogether  the  effect  of  the  disorder  of  his 


240  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

mind,  I  ought  perhaps  to  rejoice  that  his  illness 
disables  him  to  prosecute  his  revenge." 

I  now  inquired  for  Douglas,  and  ascertained  that 
the  tone  of  Howard's  ravings  generally  softened 
whenever  my  name  occurred  to  him,  and  that  he 
seemed  to  connect  me  in  his  imagination  with  the 
happiness  of  Ann,  of  whom  he  always  spoke  with 
the  most  melting  tenderness.  We  thence  inferred 
that  the  sight  of  me  might  be  rather  beneficial  to 
him  than  otherwise.  I  accordingly  proposed  to 
Douglas  to  conduct  me  to  his  room. 

I  found  him  in  bed,  pale  and  squalid,  with  his 
hands  and  face  besmeared  with  blood,  which  I 
supposed  had  been  taken  from  his  arm.  As  I  en- 
tered, he  looked  at  me  with  a  stupid,  vacant  gaze, 
in  which  there  was  little  of  recognition,  and,  as  I 
approached  the  bed,  held  out  his  hand  in-isilence. 
I  took  it,  and  he,  grasping  mine,  continued  to  keep 
his  eye  upon  me.  For  a  moment  a  glimpse  of 
meaning  gleamed  in  it,  and  then  relapsing  into  the 
same  appearance  of  stolidity,  he  let  go  my  hand, 
and  hid  his  under  the  bedclothes.  I  seated  myself 
by  him,  and  remained  silent.  In  a  few  minutes 
he  turned  to  me,  and  said,  in  a  deep,  hoarse 
whisper, 

"  Did  you  say  she  was  well  ?" 

•'  She  is,"  said  I,  guessing  at  his  meaning. 

"  And  happy  ?"  added  he, 

"  As  happy,"  said  I,  "  as  her  concern  for  your 
illness  will  permit." 

•*  Her  concern  for  me  1"  he  exclaimed,  with  a 


GEORGE   BALCOMBE.  241 

wild,  dissonant  laugh.  "  But  she  is  good.  Yes, 
she  is  concerned  for  me,"  he  added,  in  a  touching 
tone.  "  She  is  so  good.  But  she  must  not  mind 
me.  She  must  be  happy.  I  am  well — very 
well." 

Saying  this,  he  raised  himself,  and  seemed  about 
to  leave  his  bed,  when  he  fell  back  dizzy  with  loss 
of  blood.  Indeed,  I  ascertained  that  the  calm  state 
in  which  I  found  him  had  been  the  effect  of  pro- 
fuse and  repeated  bleeding,  which  had  left  him 
utterly  exhausted.  I  learned,  also,  that  he  had 
passed  several  days  without  sleep,  and  that  ano- 
dynes had  been  administered  which  appeared  to 
have  composed  him.  The  doctor,  it  seemed,  looked 
to  sleep  as  his  great  auxiliary,  and  his  efforts  now 
were  to  bring  that  to  his  aid. 

Finding  the  effect  of  my  presence  not  injurious, 
I  determined  to  spend  the  night  by  his  bedside,  and 
give  poor  Douglas  a  chance  to  snatch  some  repose. 
I  accordingly  obtained  the  necessary  instructions, 
and  after  supper  took  my  post  for  the  night.  My 
patient  continued  until  a  late  hour  to  oscillate  be- 
tween stupor  and  occasional  fits  of  excitement. 
At  length  after  midnight  he  sank  into  a  profound 
sleep.  About  daylight  I  roused  Douglas,  and  went 
to  bed.  It  was  near  noon  when  I  awoke,  and 
Howard  still  slept.  When  I  entered  his  room  he 
lay  still  and  pale,  and  but  for  his  low  deep  breath- 
ing I  should  have  thought  him  dead.  I  was  impa- 
tient to  see  him  open  his  eyes,  for  I  could  not  look 
at  him  without  fearing  he  might  never  open  them 

VOL.  n. — x 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

again.  But  the  doctor,  stealing  his  hand  to  the 
pulse  of  the  patient,  pronounced  that  he  was  doing 
well,  and  encouraged  us  to  hope  he  would  awake 
in  his  senses. 

He  was  not  mistaken.  Howard  at  length  slowly 
opened  his  eyes,  and  looked  around  the  room  with 
a  countenance  intelligent  and  calm,  though  bewil- 
dered. He  looked  inquiringly  at  every  person 
present,  then  at  his  hands,  and  at  the  bloody  bed- 
clothes, and  at  length  said, 

"  What  does  all  this  mean  ?     Have  I  been  ill  ?" 

Being  told  that  he  had  been,  he  asked  a  few 
more  questions,  the  answers  to  which  seemed  to 
awaken  a  sort  of  dreaming  recollection.  After 
musing  some  minutes,  he  requested  all  to  leave  the 
room  but  Douglas  and  me.  Then  turning  to  him 
he  said, 

"How  is  this,  Angus?  How  much  of  this  is 
true — how  much  a  dream  ?" 

"I  cannot  tell  that,"  said  Douglas;  "but  you 
have  been  ill,  and  delirious  many  days." 

"  Then  I  have  perhaps  imagined  it  all  ?" 

He  relapsed  into  silence,  and  at  length  with 
some  quickness  asked  for  his  pistols.  Douglas 
brought  him  one. 

44  The  other  !  the  other  !"  said  he.  "  I  want 
both." 

Douglas  now  handed  him  the  other,  which  had 
been  shattered  by  Balcombe's  ball.  It  had  struck 
near  the  lock,  and  torn  it  off.  As  Howard  looked 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


243 


at  it  his  pale  cheek  flushed  slightly,  and  closing  his 
eyes  he  said, 

"  It  was  no  dream.  Where  is  Mr.  Balcombe  ? 
Not  hurt!  was  he?  I  hope  not.  I  think  not. 
Perhaps  I  don't  remember  all  things  aright." 

"  He  is  well,"  said  I,  "  and  will  be  glad  to  learn 
that  you  are  better." 

"  I  thank  him,"  said  Howard.  "  He  is  a  noble 
fellow.  Have  I  not  acted  foolishly,  wickedly, 
madly  ?  I  fear  so.  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Balcombe 
and  tell  him  so.  I  must  learn  to  love  him  for  her 
sake" 

He  now  held  out  his  hand  to  me  and  grasped 
mine  feebly.  A  tear  rose  to  his  eye  as  he  said, 

"  I  once  thought  to  love  you,  William,  for  my 
-sister's  sake.  But  you  must  be  still  dearer  to  me 
now.  You  must  make  her  happy,  William,  and 
when  she  sheds  a  tear  to  my  memory,  tell  her  I 
died  blessing  her,  and  her  tears  will  not  be  bitter." 

He  was  again  silent.  After  a  few  minutes  he 
spoke  again. 

"  I  have  been  selfish  and  unjust,"  said  he.  "  Will 
not  Mr.  Balcombe  come  to  see  me  ?  I  have  no 
right  to  ask  it,  but  I  wish  to  take  him  by  the  hand, 
and  hear  him  say  he  forgives  my  insolence.  I 
remember  something  of  it,  but  I  fear  not  all.  I 
remember,  too,  he  acted  nobly,  and  shamed  me 
into  the  dust.  But  I  deserved  it.  Did  I  not  ?" 

"  You  were  not  yourself,  Henry.  We  are  all 
now  sensible  of  that.  Mr.  Balcombe  was  the  first 
to  discover  it.  He  has  no  unkind  feeling  towards 


244  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

you,  and  will  be  here  as  soon  as  he  knows  that  you 
can  see  him." 

We  now  prevailed  on  Howard  to  take  some 
nourishment,  and  a  servant  was  despatched  to 
Craiganet  to  say  that  he  was  better,  and  expressed 
a  wish  to  see  Balcombe.  I  enforced  this  request 
by  a  note  which  removed  all  Baleombe's  difficul- 
ties, and  he  came  next  morning.  Another  night's 
rest  had  completely  calmed  Howard's  mind,  and 
he  now  seemed  to  distinguish  clearly  between 
those  recollections  in  which  he  could,  and  those  in 
which  he  could  not  trust  his  memory.  There  was, 
indeed,  a  cloud  on  all  that  had  happened,  since 
the  day  he  left  Craiganet  a  discarded  suitor  ; 
and  he  obtained  from  Douglas  an  exact  account 
of  all. 

When  Balcombe  arrived,  he  was  immediately 
conducted  to  Howard's  room.  Miss  Howard  was 
present  when  he  entered.  She  was  the  first  to 
greet  him  with  great  cordiality.  He  then  ap- 
proached Howard,  who  holding  out  his  hand,  said, 

"  This  is  very  kind,  Mr.  Balcombe.  I  take  your 
visit  as  a  pledge  that  I  am  forgiven.  But  it  will 
be  gratifying  to  me,  because  it  will  humble  my 
pride,  to  hear  you  say  so." 

Balcombe  now,  with  the  utmost  delicacy,  gave 
him  the  desired  assurance,  telling  him  he  had  no 
idea  that  he  could  be  justly  blamed  for  anything 
he  did  in  the  distempered  condition  of  his  mind. 

4<  But  you  were  not  aware  of  that  at  the  time, 
and  therefore  my  gratitude  must  be  measured  by 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  245 

your  forbearance.  You  don't  know,  Margaret, 
that  it  is  due  to  Mr.  Balcombe's  magnanimity  that 
you  still  have  a  protector.  I  will  not  offend  his 
delicacy  by  telling  the  story  in  his  presence,  but 
you  must  know  all.  Angus  must  tell  you  all." 

Miss  Howard  turned  an  inquiring  look  on  Bal- 
combe,  but  he  merely  smiled  and  shook  his  head, 
saying, 

"  A  foolish  quarrel ;  nothing  more." 

"  Yes,  there  was  much  more,"  said  Howard  ; 
"and  when  you  know  all,  Margaret,  you  must 
thank  Mr.  Balcombe  for  me  as  he  deserves." 

"  I  do  thank  him,"  said  the  young  lady.  "  I  know 
he  deserves  all  my  thanks." 

Saying  this,  she  left  the  room.  I  returned  home, 
and  Balcombe  remained  all  night.  The  next  day 
I  returned  to  relieve  Balcombe,  but  was  told  by 
the  doctor  that  the  presence  of  my  friend  was  of 
great  advantage  to  Howard,  and  that  he  had  pre- 
vailed on  him  to  stay  there.  Indeed  it  was  delight- 
ful to  see  how  the  mind  of  Howard  calmed  itself 
under  the  mild  ministrations  of  Balcombe,  and 
how  the  originality  of  his  thoughts,  and  the  vivid- 
ness of  his  conceptions  and  language,  took  posses- 
sion of  the  faculties  of  the  patient,  and  wiled  him 
away  from  all  subjects  of  painful  reflection.  There 
was,  indeed,  a  healthfulness  in  the  action  of  Bal- 
combe's mind,  which  seemed  to  impart  itself  to  all 
he  associated  with,  dispelling  phantasies,  and  heal- 
ing sickly  sensibilities  as  if  by  magic.  His  philos- 
ophy was  nothing  but  plain  common  sense.  The 


246  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

art  of  making  this  acceptable  was  his  great  excel- 
lence. 

The  time  now  approached  when  it  would  be 
necessary  to  attend  the  chancery  court  at  Freder- 
icksburg.  A  few  days  before  a  letter  was  received 
from  Major  Swann,  saying  that  he  had  intended 
to  go  to  Fredericksburg,  and  there  prepare  his 
answer,  but  that  his  health  would  not  permit  it. 
As  it  was  desirable  to  me  that  this  document  should 
be  full  and  clear,  I  had  expressed  a  wish  to  see  it 
before  filing.  He  therefore  proposed  that  Bal- 
combe  and  I  should  return  to  Raby  Hall,  and  take 
with  us  a  professional  gentleman  of  the  major's 
acquaintance  to  prepare  the  answer.  I  deter- 
mined, therefore,  to  set  out  immediately,  and  would 
have  asked  the  company  of  Balcombe,  but  that  I 
saw  he  was  become  a  sort  of  necessary  of  life  to 
Howard.  We  parted,  therefore,  with  an  agree- 
ment to  meet  the  night  before  court  in  Fredericks- 
burg.  Balcombe  also  requested,  that  as  there 
would  be  no  longer  any  need  of  John's  services 
at  Raby  Hall,  I  would  send  him  to  Craiganet. 

"I  have  no  particular  use  for  him,"  said  he, 
"  but  I  like  to  have  him  about  me.  He  is  quick 
and  apprehensive,  and  I  am  never  at  a  loss  when 
I  have  him  with  me.  Besides,  I  have  been  listen- 
ing to  good  English  so  long,  that  I  begin  to  long 
for  some  of  his  stories  told  in  his  own  terse 
dialect." 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  247 

<it  -wti  *nw  '    »»;»# 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

il  $  i 

With  every  pleasing,  every  prudent  part, 
Say  what  can  Chloe  want  ?     She  wants  a  heart. 
She  speaks,  behaves,  and  acts  just  as  she  ought, 
But  never,  never  reached  one  generous  thought. 
Virtue  she  finds  too  painful  an  endeavour, 
Content  to  dwell  in  decencies  for  ever. 

POPS. 

WHEN  I  reached  home,  I  discovered  by  the  first 
glance  at  Jane  that  she  had  heard  all  from  Dou- 
glas, who  had  been  there.  At  the  same  time  a 
mysterious  look,  as  she  rolled  up  her  eyes,  lifted 
one  hand,  and  heaved  a  short  sigh,  told  me  that  the 
secret  was  known  to  herself  alone  of  all  the  house- 
hold. As  soon  as  she  could  catch  me  alone  she 
exclaimed, 

"  Oh,  William  !  to  think  of  the  mischief  that  my 
indiscretion  was  so  near  producing 1" 

"  You  are  mistaken  as  to  the  cause,  Jane,"  said  I. 

"  Oh  no  1"  said  she,  "  I  know.  Douglas  told  me 
it  was  the  effect  of  my  foolish  speech  to  him,  which 
he  repeated  to  Howard.  Though,  to  tell  the  truth, 
I  don't  see  that  I  am  so  much  to  blame,  for  how 
did  I  know  that  Howard  was  crazy  enough  to 
quarrel  about  such  a  thing.  Indeed  I  am  glad  to 


248 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


hear  you  say  that  I  was  not  the  cause  of  the 
quarrel." 

"  I  said  that  your  indiscretion  was  not  the  cause. 
You  are  never  indiscreet,  Jane.  I  almost  wish 
you  were  sometimes." 

"  Gracious  Heaven,  William !"  she  exclaimed, 
with  a  look  of  horror  quite  theatrical ;  "  you  do 
not  mean  to  impute  to  me  any  design  to  bring  about 
such  consequences  ?" 

"  Nothing  like  it,"  said  I.  "  No  design  at  all. 
Nothing  but  a  perfect  indifference  to  consequences 
which  you  did  not  foresee  might  react  on  your- 
self." 

She  now  looked  at  me  with  an  expression  of 
undissembled  amazement.  Up  to  this  time  she 
had  always  used  freely  the  elder  sister's  privilege 
of  rebuking  my  faults.  Of  hers  I  had  yever  pre- 
sumed to  speak.  But  the  tone  of  calm  displeasure 
in  which  I  spoke  reversed  our  position  at  once, 
and  she  said  with  an  air  of  anxious  humility, 

"  William  !  what  does  this  mean  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  replied  I,  "  but  that  I  would  not 
have  you  deceive  yourself,  and  so  aggravate  a  real 
fault  by  endeavouring  to  correct  one  which  is  alto- 
gether imaginary." 

"  And  what  is  that  real  fault,  brother?"  said  she, 
meekly. 

"Selfishness,"  replied  I. 

"  Selfishness  !  selfishness  !*  screamed  Jane,  in- 
dignantly, and  immediately  endeavouring  to  resume 
the  ascendant.  "  Selfish  !  I  who — but  I  won't  be 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  249 

my  own  trumpeter.  But  you  know  enough  to 
know,  William,  that  I  am  anything  but  selfish" 

"  I  know  you  think  so,  Jane,  and  I  say  this  to 
undeceive  you.  Were  I  merely  disposed  to  wound, 
I  might  call  it  malevolence  ;  but  it  is  not  that." 

"  Selfishness  and  malevolence  !"  said  she.  "  I 
selfish  and  malevolent  ?  I  who — " 

"  I  know  what  you  would  say,"  I  replied.  "  The 
proofs  of  benevolence  to  which  you  would  appeal 
are  no  secret.  If  they  were,  I  might  judge  of  them 
differently.  But  I  am  not  mistaken.  Now  look 
at  this  business.  Had  you  not  been  wrapped  up 
in  your  own  schemes,  could  you  not  have  spared 
enough  of  sympathy  to  me,  and  gratitude  to  one  to 
whom  we  both  owe  so  much,  to  refrain  from  ap- 
plying to  Balcombe  the  epithet  of  matchmaker  ? 
Could  you  not  have  heard  of  the  late  occurrence 
with  pleasure  at  the  escape  of  our  friends,  instead 
of  losing  all  other  interest  in  the  affair  but  that 
which  grew  out  of  your  own  part  in  it  ?  Could 
you  not  bear  the  well  meant  remonstrance  of  a 
brother,  without  endeavouring  to  put  him  in  the 
wrong,  by  imputing  to  him  words  he  never  uttered  ? 
Did  I  say  you  were  malevolent?" 

"  You  said  malevolence"  said  she. 

"  Still  struggling  for  victory,"  replied  I,  "  still 
all  for  self.  I  did  say  malevolence.  I  said  I  did 
not  impute  to  you  malevolence.  Was  not  that 
it?" 

*'  That  was  not  what  you  meant,"  said  she* 


250 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


"  Am  I  then  in  the  habit,"  asked  I,  "  of  saying 
one  thing  when  I  mean  another  ?" 

She  half  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  spitefully  at 
me,  but  did  not  dare  to  say  "  Yes."  But  she 
would  say  nothing  else,  and  so  her  spirit  again 
gave  way,  and  she  burst  into  tears. 

I  would  not  have  the  reader  suppose  I  saw  this 
with  indifference.  A  woman  in  tears,  and  that 
woman  my  sister,  was  no  pleasant  sight.  But  I 
manned  myself  to  bear  it,  and  saw  her  through  a 
fit  of  hysterics  without  running  away,  or  calling 
for  help.  What  1  had  begun  I  determined  to  go 
through  with.  She  at  length  reached  that  point 
of  exhaustion  at  which  the  pathetic  seems  more 
practicable  than  any  other  mode  of  eloquence,  and 
lifting  up  her  hands  and  eyes,  exclaimed  plain- 
tively, 

M  Oh  me  !  to  be  accused  of  selfishness  by  my 
own  brother  1" 

"  Was  it  then  a  brother,"  asked  I,  "  whose  hopes 
of  happiness  you  sought  to  destroy  for  the  chance 
of  bettering  yours  ?" 

"  Good  Heaven,  William  !"  she  exclaimed,  with 
well  acted  amazement,  "  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Did  you  not  tell  my  father  and  Ann,"  I  asked, 
"  that  Miss  Howard  had  avowed  a  decided  prefer- 
ence for  me  ?" 

"  I  said  I  had  been  told  so  by  another,"  was  the 
reply. 

"  By  a  confidential  friend.    Was  it  not  so  ?" 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  251 

"  I  said  I  was  told  that  the  communication  was 
made  in  confidence." 

"  And  the  object  of  that  confidence  was — Sally 
Grey  !  The  silly,  flippant,  indiscreet,  and  vulgar 
Sally  Grey,  the  confidant  of  the  highminded,  deli- 
cate, refined,  intellectual  Margaret  Howard  !  I 
will  not  ask  you,  Jane,  if  you  believed  that.  But 
I  will  ask  you  if  you  did  not  tell  Ann  that  I  was 
engaged  to  Miss  Howard  ?" 

"  I  told  her  everybody  said  so." 

"  And  believing  it  yourself,  doubtless,  you  en- 
couraged her  to  believe  it." 

"  And  what  right  had  I  to  doubt  it  ?"  she  asked. 

"  You  could  not  believe  it,"  I  replied,  "  because 
you  were  in  the  secret.  I  was  not.  But  you  and 
Douglas  perfectly  understood  how  it  was  that  Miss 
Howard  and  I  were  thrown  so  much  together, 
He  is  an  honourable  young  fellow.  Are  you  con- 
tent that  he  should  know  that  you  encouraged  Ann 
to  believe  it,  and  that  the  notable  device  of  keeping 
her  room  unless  I  would  promise  eternal  silence 
was  of  your  suggestion  ?" 

"  Oh,  William  I"  she  exclaimed,  with  an  alarmed 
look. 

"  Douglas,"  I  continued,  "  does  know  of  the  in- 
terdict. Does  he  know  how  it  was  brought  about  ? 
Your  silence  says  no.  And  though  your  love  for 
him  prompted  the  deception,  yet  for  the  world 
you  would  not  have  him  know  it.  What  is  it, 
Jane,  that  bribes  conscience,  and  makes  it  a  more 


252 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


lenient  judge  than  a  devoted  lover  T     Can  selfish- 
ness achieve  a  greater  triumph  ?" 

She  made  no  answer,  but  at  length  sobbed  out 
in  a  reproachful  and  querulous  tone, 

"  I  have  no  home  but  yours  ;  no  protector  but 
you." 

"  Still  harping  on  self,"  said  I.  "  Will  it  not 
even  suffer  you  to  remember  that  none  of  us  has 
any  home.  That  your  mother  has  no  home  ?  And 
if  you  ever  have  a  home,  at  least  while  you  are 
single,  you  will  owe  it  to  one  who  has  perilled  his 
life  to  serve  you,  and  towards  whom  you  have 
never  permitted  yourself  to  feel  one  sentiment  of 
gratitude." 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  she,  "  he  never  did  anything 
on  my  account,  and  does  not  care  a  straw  what 
becomes  of  me" 

"  And  therefore  you,  who  are  not  at  all  selfish, 
wantonly  asperse  and  endanger  the  life  of  one, 
whose  only  merit  is  his  gratitude  to  your  grand- 
father, and  his  generous  Devotion  to  your  brother, 
because,  if  he  serves  you  at  all,  it  will  be  but  inci- 
dentally." 

She  saw  that  in  her  eagerness  to  defend  herself 
she  had  given  up  her  cause,  and  again  had  recourse 
to  tears.  I  went  on : 

"  As  to  your  having  no  protector,  Jane,  but  me, 
that  is  true,  and  I  therefore  am  doing  the  duty  of 
one,  painful  as  it  is.  It  is  my  duty  to  free  your 
mind  from  the  delusions  which  self-love,  and  the 
flattery  of  a  certain  clique  of  sentimentalists,  have 


253 


palmed  on  you  for  truth.  I  have  no  wish  to  mor* 
lify  you.  You  have  qualities  of  the  highest  order, 
which  fit  you  to  be  the  happiness  or  the  torment  of 
your  friends.  Which  you  shall  be  depends  on 
your  coming  to  a  right  understanding  of  yourself. 
Learn  to  bear  the  thought  that  others  may  be 
happy,  without  owing  their  happiness  to  you,  and 
then,  if  you  cannot  make  them  so,  you  will  at  least 
not  make  them  wretched.  Look  into  your  own 
heart,  and  you  will  see  that  there  has  been  the 
root  of  all  this  bitterness.  Instead,  therefore,  of 
cherishing  angry  feelings  against  your  brother, 
remember  that  he  not  only  forgave  his  own 
wrongs,  but  forbore  to  speak  of  them.  Let  that 
be  my  pledge,  that  having  done  my  duty  now,  you 
shall  not  find  me  inclined  to  recur  to  this  unpleasant 
topic.  On  the  contrary,  assure  yourself,  that  I 
shall  never  foil  in  the  respect  and  tenderness  due 
to  a  lady  and  a  sister." 

Saying  this,  I  took  her  hand,  and  she,  subdued 
and  softened,  threw  her  arms  around  my  neck, 
and  now  wept  penitential  and  salutary  tears. 

As  the  affair  between  Balcombe  and  Howard 
was  no  longer  a  secret,  I  made  no  scruple  of  telling 
the  whole  story  to  my  mother  and  Ann.  I  knew 
they  would  hear  it  all  after  I  was  gone,  and  I 
wished  to  witness  the  pleasure  with  which  Ann 
would  look  on  this  new  display  of  the  noble  quali- 
ties of  her  friend.  She  was  by  this  time  as  far 
gone  as  I  in  confidence  in  the  resources  of  Bal- 
«ombe  ;  and  if  he  had  promised  her  the  crown  of 

VOL.  II.  -  Y 


254  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

China,  she  would  hardly  have  doubted  the  fulfil- 
ment of  the  promise. 

The  next  day  I  left  home,  and  went  as  far  as 

the  house  of  Mr.  W ,  the  lawyer  mentioned  by 

Major  Swann,  and  the  day  after  we  rode  together 
to  Raby  Hall. 

I  was  pleased  to  find  the  old  gentleman  only  so 
much  indisposed  with  a  slight  rheumatism,  as  to 
make  it  unadvisable  to  go  from  home  at  that  in- 
clement season.  James  had  in  a  great  measure 
recovered  his  spirits.  He  seemed  quite  domes- 
ticated at  the  hall,  and  happy  in  the  free  use  of 
books  which  he  read  with  his  sister.  In  her  I  saw 
no  change,  except  that  she  had  been  drawn  out  by 
degrees  from  that  shrinking  reserve  to  which  she 
had  condemned  herself,  and  now  showed  in  con- 
versation the  same  superiority  of  intellect  of  which 
I  had  seen  so  many  other  proofs.  What  punish- 
ment could  be  too  severe  for  the  wretch  by  whose 
villany  such  a  woman  had  been  lost  to  the  world 
and  to  herself? 

Mr.  W ,  whose  business  required  his  pres- 
ence elsewhere,  at  once  betook  himself  to  that 
which  brought  him  to  Raby  Hall.  He  did  not 
sleep  until  he  had  done  his  work,  and  next  morn- 
ing left  us  immediately  after  breakfast. 

Before  his  departure,  he  admonished  Mr.  Swann 
that  it  was  proper  he  should  send  the  answer  and 
packet  by  some  confidential  person,  and  turning  to 
me,  added, 

"  No  person  can  be  more  worthy  of  such  confi- 


GEORGE  BALCOMBE, 


255 


dence  than  yourself,  Mr.  Napier;  but  you  will 
nevertheless  see  that  this  paper  should  reach  the 
court  without  ever  having  been  in  your  hands." 

I  felt  the  justice  of  this,  and  therefore  did  not 
touch  it ;  though  I  saw,  with  some  anticipation  of 
disappointment,  that  the  packet  was  too  large  to 
contain  merely  such  a  will  as  my  father's  memo- 
randum spoke  of.  I  saw,  too,  where  the  scorched 
envelope  had  crumbled  away,  nothing  but  the  ap- 
pearance as  of  an  old  newspaper.  But  a  moment's 
reflection  satisfied  me,  that  whatever  unimportant 
papers  it  might  contain,  there  was  certainly  some 
document  there  of  great  consequence,  and  that 
Montague  was  especially  anxious  to  keep  that 
from  falling  into  my  hands.  Why  else  had  my 
appearance  broken  up  his  repose,  and  determined 
him  even  to  risk  his  life  to  destroy  it  or  possess 
himself  of  it? 

After  some  reflection,  the  major  determined  to 
ask  James  to  take  charge  of  the  packet,  which  he 
agreed  to  do,  and  it  was  settled  that  we  should  go 
together.  The  next  day  but  one  was  court  day, 
and  the  distance  almost  too  great  for  a  day's  ride. 
I  had  intended  to  go  as  far  as  Tapahannock  that 
evening,  but  James  could  not  be  ready  until  morn- 
ing. I  therefore  determined  to  wait  for  him. 

Walking  out  in  the  evening,  I  met  a  man 
mounted  on  a  fine  roan  horse,  of  remarkable  action 
and  fleetness.  I  thought  I  had  rarely  seen  one 
that  got  over  the  ground  with  so  much  ease  to 
himself  and  his  rider.  I  turned  as  he  moved 


256  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

rapidly  by,  and  remarked  the  fine  and  vigorous 
movements  of  the  animal  as  he  went  from  me- 
Charles  was  not  far  behind  me,  and  I  saw  the 
horseman  stop  and  speak  to  him.  He  then  passed 
on,  and  I  waited  till  Charles  came  up. 

"  Who  was  that,  Charles  V9  said  I. 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.  He  stranger  to  me, 
master." 

"  What  did  he  want  with  you  V9 

"  Just  ask  me  if  that  was  you,  sir,  and  if  you 
was  going  to  start  to  Fredericksburg  this  evening. 
He  say  he  want  company." 

"  And  what  did  you  tell  him  ?"  said  I,  not  liking 
to  give  my  company  to  one  so  free  of  his. 

"  I  tell  him,  sir,  I  hear  'em  say  you  wasn't  going 
to  start  'fore  morning.  Then  he  say  you  have 
mighty  long  ride,  and  I  tell  him  you  got  a  good 
horse,  carry  you  to  Fredericksburg  mighty  handy 
before  bedtime." 

Returning  to  the  house,  I  sat  with  Mr.  Swann, 
who  could  not  take  his  usual  exercise,  and  to  whom, 
therefore,  a  companion  was  more  necessary  than 
usual.  Before  I  came  in  he  had  been  talking  with 
James,  who  no  sooner  found  me  engaged  in  con- 
versation than  he  resumed  his  book.  Our  thoughts 
necessarily  ran  on  Montague  and  his  machinations, 
and  we  spoke  of  him,  forgetting  the  presence  of 
poor  James.  I  am  not  sure  that  the  major  was 
aware  of  his  ignorance  of  his  sister's  history.  Be 
that  as  it  may,  he  let  fall  some  expression  which 
struck  on  James's  ear  with  a  shock  that  made  him 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  257 

spring  into  the  middle  of  the  floor.  Startled  at 
this  movement,  I  looked  at  him,  and  saw  him  sta- 
ring wildly  on  the  major.  At  length  he  recovered 
himself  enough  to  ask  the  meaning  of  what  he  had 
heard.  Unluckily  the  major  gave  an  answer,  which 
he  perceived  to  be  designedly  evasive. 

The  change  in  his  whole  appearance  and  manner 
at  once  made  me  sensible  of  the  reason  of  Mary's 
caution  to  Balcombe  concerning  him.  I  have 
never  seen  the  wildness  of  rage  and  desperation 
so  displayed  as  in  his  countenance.  The  glare  of 
his  eye,  the  paleness  of  his  face,  the  blackness 
about  the  mouth,  and  the  foam  that  gathered  at  its 
corners,  as  he  stood  grinding  his  teeth  in  silence, 
were  horrible  to  behold.  At  last  he  exclaimed,  "  I 
will  know  the  truth,'*  and  rushed  from  the  room. 

I  afterward  learned  that  he  had  found  Charles, 
and  wrung  from  him  the  whole  story,  which  he  had 
probably  heard  from  his  mother. 


258 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

He  knew  and  crossed  me  in  the  fray. 
I  gazed  upon  him  where  he  lay, 
And  watched  his  spirit  ebb  away. 

BTROW. 

I  SAW  no  more  of  James  that  evening,  nor  did 
poor  Mary  appear  at  supper.  Late  at  night  he 
came  into  my  room,  where  he  lay,  and  went  to 
bed,  but  not  to  sleep.  By  daylight  our  horses  were 
at  the  door,  and  James  made  his  appearance. 
Something  had  put  it  into  my  head  to  take  my 
pistols,  and  I  asked  James  if  he  was  armed.  He 
only  replied  by  grasping  the  handle  of  his  dirk 
with  one  hand,  and  pointing  with  the  other  to  his 
pistols  under  his  coat.  These  were  all  the  same 
weapons  of  which  Balcombe  had  been  robbed.  He 
had  given  them  to  James,  saying, 

•*  Here,  my  boy,  are  a  dirk  and  a  pair  of  pistols 
that  never  failed  their  master.  I  hope  you  may 
never  have  cause  to  use  them  ;  but  if  you  do,  that 
they  may  serve  you  as  well  as  they  have  me." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  James,  "  they  may  lose  their 
virtue  in  my  hands." 

"  Never  fear,"  said  Balcombe.  "  Be  always 
sure  that  your  cause  is  good,  and  learn  to  use  them 


GEORGE  BALCOMBE.  259 

with  deliberate  promptitude,  and   they'll   not  fail 
you." 

James  had  not  forgotten  this,  and  as  he  turned 
I  heard  him  mutter, 

"  A  good  cause,  and  deliberate  promptitude." 

In  these  words  I  was  sure  I  heard  the  doom  of 
Montague.  It  was  in  vain  to  think  of  saying  any- 
thing to  calm  his  excited  feelings,  so  we  mounted 
our  horses  and  rode  away  in  silence. 

At  Tapahannock  we  stopped  for  breakfast,  and 
there  found  the  knight  of  the  roan  horse,  who 
breakfasted  with  us,  and  immediately  rode  off.  I 
was  pleased  at  this,  for  it  gave  me  a  favourable 
opinion  of  my  own  address  and  dignity.  Having 
no  desire  for  his  company,  and  remembering  the 
wish  he  had  expressed,  I  took  care  to  meet  all  his 
advances  towards  my  acquaintance  with  a  cold 
and  stately  courtesy  which  was  intended  to  repel 
without  offending.  Seeing  him,  then,  ride  off 
without  having  proposed  to  travel  with  me,  I  had 
little  doubt  that  I  had  acquitted  myself  well  of  this 
delicate  task,  and  perhaps  made  him  feel  that  there 
was  some  difference  between  us,  which  forbade 
his  intended  overture.  This  was  fifteen  years  ago, 
reader,  and  I  was  then  a  boy ;  and  though  the 
fortunes  of  my  family  were  fallen,  I  had  not  yet 
lost  a  vague  notion  of  some  peculiar  merit  belong- 
ing to  the  blood  of  Raby  and  Napier  which  flowed 
in  my  veins.  Such  notions  had  indeed  been  ex- 
ploded long  before,  but  I  did  not  know  that.  In 
the  progress  of  events  and  manners,  I  am  not  sure 


260  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

that  the  ancient  order  has  not  been  reversed.  It- 
is  perhaps  a  disadvantage  now  to  be  what  was 
once  called  "  well  born."  It  is  considered  merely 
as  affording  prima  facie  evidence  that  a  man  is 
arrogant,  self-important,  and  satisfied  to  be  a  fool, 
because  he  does  not  know  it.  I  mention  this  error 
of  my  youth,  only  that  I  may  proclaim  my  repent- 
ance of  it.  Having  had  occasion  to  allude  fre- 
quently to  my  family,  I  feel  that  it  may  be  neces- 
sary to  bespeak  your  favour,  and,  perhaps,  forbear- 
ance, by  disclaiming  that  foolish  family  pride  which 
I  then  cherished.  I  did  cherish  it.  Notwithstand- 
ing my  professions  to  Balcombe,  I  had  more  of  it 
than  he  would  have  approved.  Indeed  I  did  not 
pride  myself  on  the  individual  merit  of  any  ances- 
tor ;  for  I  am  not  aware  that,  since  the  old  baron 
whose  name  I  bear,  there  was  any  such  merit  to 
be  proud  of.  The  name  alone,  as  that  of  a  family, 
which,  through  several  generations  of  uninterrupted 
prosperity,  had  been  looked  up  to  by  the  less 
wealthy,  was  the  source  of  my  self-complacency. 
I  had  been  aware  of  my  relation  to  the  noble  pa- 
triot, of  whose  magnanimous  devotion  of  life  and 
fortune  to  his  country  Balcombe  had  spoken ;  but 
the  idea  of  being  proud  of  him  had  not  occurred 
to  me.  My  habit  of  thinking  on  the  subject  had 
been,  that  all  the  honour  of  the  alliance  was  the 
other  way.  Whf/  ?  If  I  could  have  found  any 
rational  answer  to  the  question,  I  should  have 
cherished  this  pride.  As  it  was,  I  made  haste  to 
get  rid  of  it,  as  so^n  as  I  discovered,  that,  in  those 


GEORGE  BALCOMBE. 


26t 


who  still  retain  it,  it  is  commonly  in  the  inverse 
ratio  to  the  respect  of  others. 

We  stopped  again  at  a  house  between  Tapa- 
hannock  and  Port  Royal,  and  there  again  found  the 
gentleman  of  the  roan  horse.  Having  now,  as  I 
supposed,  taught  him  his  distance,  I  thought  I 
might  condescend  so  far  as  to  speak  of  the  merits 
of  his  noble  horse.  The  theme  proved  a  grateful 
one.  He  expatiated  on  the  performance  of  the 
animal  and  his  own  care  for  him. 

"  He  could  travel,"  said  he,  "  as  far  again  in  a 
day  as  any  common  horse  ;  and  he  travels  so  fast 
and  so  easy,  that  I  should  impose  on  him  if  I  did 
not  make  short  stages  and  long  stops.  1  have 
been  here  an  hour,  and  shall  stay  an  hour  longer, 
and  pass  you  again  before  you  get  to  Port  Royal." 

He  now  took  advantage  of  the  opening  I  had 
made,  and  ran  on  with  a  great  deal  of  horse  lan- 
guage. Being,  like  all  young  fellows  of  my  stand- 
ing in  Virginia,  a  mighty  foxhunter,  I  was  of 
course  an  enthusiast  in  regard  to  horses;  and 
found  myself  disposed  to  recognise  a  sort  of  equal- 
ity in  a  man  who  conversed  as  learnedly,  and  with 
as  much  unction  as  any  of  my  highborn  compan- 
ions, on  this  their  favourite  topic. 

At  length  we  went  on,  and  left  him  taking  his 
rest.  We  had  not  gone  far  before  he  swept  past 
us  at  a  rapid  pace,  and  then,  reining  up  his  horse, 
said,  as  he  would  get  to  Port  Royal  some  time 
before  us,  he  would,  if  we  thought  proper,  order 
dinner  for  us  with  himself,  and  await  our  arrival  ^ 


262  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

unless  we  proposed  to  spend  the  night  there,  and 
to  wait  for  supper.  I  told  him  it  was  uncertain 
whether  we  should  stop  or  go  on,  but  that  the 
dinner  would  be  by  no  means  unacceptable.  He 
then  said  he  would  do  as  he  had  proposed,  and 
pushed  on. 

On  our  arrival  we  found  that  he  had  been  as 
good  as  his  word,  and  that  an  excellent  dinner  was 
waiting  for  us.  We  dined  heartily,  and  with  the 
help  of  a  good  glass  of  wine,  I  found  myself  so 
much  refreshed,  that  the  distance  to  Fredericks- 
burg  seemed  much  less  formidable  than  before. 
The  stranger  now  called  for  his  horse,  and  said, 

"I  now  find  the  benefit  of  my  mode  of  travel- 
ling. I  have  half  an  hour  start  of  you ;  my  horse 
is  quite  refreshed,  and  I  shall  reach  Fredericks^ 
burg  by  dark,  while  you  will  have  to  spend  the 
night  here." 

I  was  not  in  the  humour  to  have  my  horse,  or 
my  skill  in  his  management  disparaged,  and  replied 
that,  though  I  had  ridden  farther  than  he,  I  should 
still  be  in  Fredericksburg  by  bedtime,  which,  as 
the  weather  was  good,  and  the  moon  would  give 
some  light,  would  answer  just  as  well  as  an  earlier 
hour. 

He  now  rode  oflf,  and  the  landlord,  looking  after 
him,  said  to  me, 

"  You  are  a  young  traveller." 

"  I  am  young,"  said  I ;  "  but  having  travelled  in 
the  western  settlements  beyond  the  Missouri,  I 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  263 

think  that,  young  as  I  am,  I  might  pass  for  a  pretty 
old  traveller." 

**  There  must  be  less  danger  travelling  in  that 
wild  country,"  said  he,  "  than  I  had  thought." 

"  Why  so  ?"  asked  I,  with  some  pique. 

"  Because  if  you  were  as  free  of  travelling  in  the 
night  there  as  you  are  here,  and  of  telling  strangers 
about  it,  I  should  think  you  might  have  lost  your 
money,  or  maybe  your  scalp." 

"  Do  you  know  anything  of  that  fellow  ?"  I 
asked. 

"  I  do  not,"  said  he  ;  "  but  he  has  travelled  up 
and  down  this  road  frequently  of  late,  as  if  he  had 
some  business,  and  I  cannot  find  out  what  it  is.  I 
should  take  him  for  a  gambler,  but  he  don't  play ; 
or  a  horse  jockey,  but  he  will  neither  buy,  nor  sell, 
nor  swap.  Altogether  I  don't  like  his  ways,  though 
1  cannot  well  say  why ;  but  I  have  a  notion  I  have 
seen  honester  men.  If  you'll  take  my  advice, 
gentlemen,  you'll  stay  where  you  are  to-night,  and 
go  into  town  in  the  morning." 

"  We  are  both  well  armed,"  said  I. 

"  And  if  you  took  notice,"  said  the  landlord,  "  he 
is  armed  too.  Didn't  you  see  his  pistols  under  his 
coat  ?" 

I  had  not  observed  them. 

"  There  is  a  gang  of  them,  I'm  thinking,"  con- 
tinued our  host.  "  I  have  seen  three  or  four  fel- 
lows dodging  about  here  for  a  day  or  two.  They 
all  seem  to  know  one  another,  though  they  are 


£64  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

strangers  to  everybody  here ;  and  I  see  they  all 
ride  fine  horses,  and  all  carry  pistols." 

"  Do  you  know  none  of  them  ?"  asked  I. 

"  I  have  seen  one  of  them,  I  think,  a  month  or 
two  ago,"  said  the  landlord,  "  but  he  don't  seem  to 
be  just  the  same  kind  of  a  man  with  the  rest.  I 
have  a  notion  he  is  a  sort  of  head  man  among 
them." 

"  Is  he  a  tall,  stout,  middle-aged,  handsome 
man,"  said  I,  "  with  a  dark  complexion  ?" 

"  I  dare  say  he  may  be  good-looking  enough 
when  he  is  in  health,"  said  the  landlord  ;  "  but  he 
looks  badly,  and  carries  his  arm  in  a  sling." 

As  I  described  Montague,  James,  who  under- 
stood me,  looked  eagerly  on  the  landlord  for  his 
answer,  and,  as  soon  as  he  heard  this  last  particu- 
lar, insisted  that  we  should  go  on.  I  reproved  his 
too  manifest  impatience  by  a  significant  look,  and 
he,  taking  the  hint,  contented  himself  with  speaking 
contemptuously  of  the  supposed  danger.  I  had 
not  at  any  time  been  inclined  to  evade  it ;  and  I 
was  now  conscious  of  something  like  the  desire 
manifested  by  James,  to  meet  and  even  court 
it.  We  accordingly  mounted  our  horses,  and 
moved  on. 

I  was  now  struck  with  the  change  in  James's 
appearance  and  manner.  He  had  been  not  only 
silent,  but  gloomy  and  dejected  all  day.  Now  his 
countenance  beamed  with  suppressed  excitement ; 
his  movements  were  full  of  energy  and  alacrity, 
and  the  spirit  which  animated  him  seemed  to  ex- 


GEORGE    BALGOMBE.  265 

tend  to  his  horse,  which  moved  off  fresh  and  cheer- 
ful as  in  the  morning.  As  soon  as  we  were  out  of 
sight  he  took  out  his  pistols,  examined  the  flints 
and  freshened  the  priming,  with  an  air  of  grim 
satisfaction,  and  a  sort  of  half  smile  in  which  there 
was  a  fearful  meaning.  I  said  nothing,  but  used 
the  same  precautions,  and  then  betook  myself  to 
the  more  important  task  of  thinking.  From  Port 
Royal  to  Fredericksburg  the  road  runs  for  the 
most  part  through  the  valley  of  the  Rapahannock, 
sometimes  skirting  the  foot  of  the  hill.  About  half- 
way between  the  two  places  the  Richmond  road 
comes  down  from  the  hills.  Along  this  road  Bal- 
combe  was  to  travel,  and,  leaving  Craiganet  after 
breakfast,  would  probably  reach  the  point  of  inter- 
section a  little  before  us.  I  mentioned  this  to 
James,  and  he  at  once  concurred  with  me  in  think- 
ing that  we  should  push  on,  and  try  to  meet  him 
there. 

On  reaching  the  fork  of  the  road  we  made  a  short 
halt,  and  listened  for  the  sound  of  horses'  feet  on 
the  frozen  ground.  It  was  now  night;  but  the 
moon,  though  low  in  the  west,  gave  some  light. 
The  road  was  wide  and  the  country  open.  We 
now  reflected,  that  if  there  was  danger  it  was  be- 
fore us ;  that  it  threatened  us  and  not  Balcombe  ; 
and  that  our  only  chance  for  his  aid  was  that  he 
might  yet  be  behind.  On  reconsidering  my  cal- 
culation, I  found  that  our  late  rapid  ride  had  prob- 
ably placed  us  ahead  of  him  ;  and  we  determined 
to  move  on  slowly  and  warily.  We  accordingly 

VOL.  II. Z 


266  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

reined  in  our  horses  to  a  walk,  and  each  drawing 
a  pistol,  we  kept  our  eyes  on  the  road  before  us. 
The  moon  at  length  sank  behind  the  hills  on  our 
left,  the  sky  became  overcast,  and  we  could  no 
longer  see  distinctly  any  object  more  than  a  few 
feet  off. 

The  road  here  runs  between  deep  ditches,  for 
the  most  part  dry,  the  banks  of  which,  with  slight 
hedges  on  the  top,  form  the  enclosure  of  the  ad- 
joining fields.  Across  these  ditches  are  small  flat 
bridges  at  the  gate  of  every  farm.  A  few  miles 
below  Fredericksburg  are  two  such  gates  and 
bridges  directly  opposite  to  each  other.  Just  as 
we  were  passing  these,  two  men  sprang  out  from 
behind  the  bridges  on  either  hand,  and  seized  our 
horses.  I  instantly  fired  my  pistol  at  the  head  of 
him  who  held  mine.  The  shot  would  have  been 
fatal,  but  at  the  same  moment  my  left  hand  was 
seized  by  some  one  from  behind,  and  I  was  jerked 
from  my  horse.  The  action  threw  my  right  arm 
up,  and  the  bullet  passed  harmless  over  the  villain's 
head.  Both  men  then  seized  and  held  me  fast. 
In  the  mean  time  I  saw  that  James,  who  had  not 
fired,  was  treated  in  the  same  way  by  two  others. 
A  fifth  now  appeared,  who  seemed  to  advance  from 
a  distance. 

He  approached  James,  and  proceeded  to  search 
him.  I  saw  him  eagerly  thrust  his  hand  into  the 
breast  pocket  of  James's  greatcoat ;  when  the 
trampling  of  horses  at  a  gallop  was  heard  in  our 
rear.  A  shot  was  fired,  and  the  ball  whistled  over 


GEORGE    BA.LCOMBE.  267 

our  heads.  My  hands  were  free  in  an  instant,  and 
the  men  who  had  held  me  took  to  their  heels.  At 
the  same  moment  I  heard  the  report  of  James's 
pistol,  and  he  exclaimed,  "  Die,  villain  !"  The  man 
who  was  searching  him  staggered  back,  and  James, 
springing  at  him,  bore  him  to  the  ground.  In- 
stantly I  saw  the  gleam  of  his  dirk  as  he  lifted  his 
hand. 

"  This  for  Mary  Scott  I"  cried  he  ;  "  and  this ! 
and  this  1" 

And  with  every  word  down  came  the  dirk.  I 
sprang  to  him,  caught  his  hand,  and  raised  him 
from  his  prostrate  enemy.  In  the  same  moment 
the  horsemen  from  behind  coming  up,  threw  them- 
selves from  their  horses,  and  proved  to  be  no  other 
than  Balcombe  and  John. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?"  cried  Balcombe. 
"Robbers?" 

"  Montague's  work,"  said  I. 

"  Montague !"  exclaimed  Balcombe ;  "  where  is 
he?"  so&fj 

"  There  he  lies,"  said  James,  in  the  low  grating 
tone  of  bitter  exultation. 

"  But  are  you  sure  that  is  he  ?"  asked  I.  "  You 
could  not  distinguish  him  in  the  dark." 

"  I  am  not  mistaken,"  said  James.  "  I  would 
not  fire  at  the  paltry  tool  he  thrust  upon  the  first 
danger.  I  knew  that  was  not  himself.  Besides, 
the  man  was  too  low  to  be  mistaken  for  him.  JBut 
instead  of  searching  for  money,  he  betrayed  him- 
self by  his  impatience  to  get  the  packet.  1  remem- 


268 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


ber  now  that  his  confederate  saw  where  I  carried 
it.  His  first  action  was  to  feel  my  pocket  on  the 
outside,  and  having  ascertained  what  was  there, 
he  seized  the  packet  with  an  eagerness  not  to  be 
mistaken.  I  observed,  too,  that  he  used  the  left 
hand,  which  put  the  matter  past  doubt.  But  how 
could  I  mistake  him  ?>'  continued  he.  "  Is  there  no 
instinct  in  the  sense  of  wrong  like  mine,  to  mark 
the  villain  for  his  punishment  even  in  the  darkest 
night  ?  Laid  beside  him  in  the  tomb,  I  would  have 
known  him,  grappled  with  him,  and  torn  his  heart 
from  his  bosom." 

I  now  inquired  whether  James  still  had  the 
packet,  to  which  he  replied  that  Montague  had 
taken  it  from  him.  John  immediately  approached 
the  body,  (for  I  shrank  from  the  task,)  and  felt  in 
his  hands  for  the  packet.  The  right  arm  was  in  a 
sling,  as  we  expected.  The  left,  as  I  afterward 
learned,  lay  extended  at  right  angles  to  the  body, 
but  the  hand  was  empty.  While  John  was  making 
this  examination,  a  deep  gurgling  groan  announced 
to  us  that  the  unfortunate  wretch  still  breathed. 
We  all  immediately  approached — for,  with  that 
groan,  the  horror  with  which  we  look  upon  the 
victims  of  violent  death  had  vanished — and  en- 
deavoured to  administer  such  relief  as  we  might. 
It  was  to  little  purpose.  He  revived  enough  to 
utter  a  few  words,  which  showed  that  he  was  con- 
scious of  the  presence  of  all  he  most  hated ;  and 
died,  howling  forth  a  strain  of  mingled  execration 
and  prayer — his  last  words  displaying  the  same 


GEORGE   BALCOMBE.  269 

selfishness,  malignity,  and  slavish  fear,  that  had 
characterized  his  whole  life. 

About  this  time  a  negro  appeared  on  the  scene 
of  action,  driving  a  wain  of  some  sort,  and  we 
easily  engaged  his  services  to  take  the  body  into 
town.  This  being  arranged,  my  thoughts  recurred 
to  the  packet.  I  determined  not  to  leave  the  spot 
without  it.  James  was  equally  resolute  in  the 
same  purpose,  conceiving  himself  bound,  as  he 
said,  to  recover  that  which  had  been  committed  to 
his  care.  It  was  altogether  probable  that  it  would 
remain  where  it  was  until  morning ;  but  the  bare 
possibility  that  it  might  be  removed  was  greater 
than  I  chose  to  hazard.  If  I  should  remain,  it  was 
not  merely  possible,  but  probable,  that  I  should 
find  it ;  and  James  said,  that  to  permit  me  to  do 
so  when  he  was  aware  of  the  object  of  my  stay, 
would  be  a  breach  of  trust.  I  admired  and  Bal- 
combe  praised  his  scrupulous  fidelity,  to  which  I 
had  nothing  to  object,  as  the  event  must  be  the 
same  whether  he  or  I  found  it.  We  agreed 
therefore,  to  remain  together,  while  Balcombe  and 
John  should  go  on  to  Fredericksburg  with  the  body. 
To  this  John  objected,  saying  it  was  no  new  thing 
to  him  to  camp  out,  and  he  could  be  of  service 
to  us. 

Balcombe,  accordingly,  moved  on,  and  John 
betook  himself  to  the, task  of  making  a  fire.  This, 
with  the  help  of  his  rifle  and  powder,  he  soon  ac- 
complished, at  the  expense  of  the  neighbouring 
fences ;  and  having  made  ourselves  somewhat 
z  2 


270  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

comfortable,  we  debated  what  should  be  done. 
The  night  was  pitchy  dark ;  we  had  already  felt 
every  inch  of  ground  near  where  the  body  lay,  and 
we  both  concluded  that  it  was  vain  to  extend  the 
search  any  farther  until  morning.  What  was  to 
be  done  in  the  mean  time  ?  We  had  our  saddle 
blankets ;  Balcombe,  with  his  usual  thoughtfulness 
and  generosity,  had  added  his  and  his  greatcoat ; 
and  we  were  tired  enough  to  feel  the  want  of 
sleep.  But  the  possibility  that  the  enemy  might 
return  forbade  that,  until  John,  who  was  never 
tired,  remarking  that  he  had  not  rode  so  far  as  we 
had,  proposed  to  watch  while  we  slept.  There 
was  something  selfish  in  our  assent  to  this  proposal ; 
but  really  the  fellow  seemed  to  have  so  few  of  the 
infirmities  of  humanity,  that  I  had  long  ceased  to 
regard  anything  as  a  hardship  to  him.  Accord- 
ingly, with  his  aid,  we  arranged  our  bed  and  were 
soon  fast  asleep.  Poor  James,  who  had  spent  the 
preceding  night  tossing  with  passion,  now  slept  as 
calmly  as  a  child.  His  spirit  seemed  completely 
tranquillized  by  the  death  of  Montague ;  and  his 
whole  manner  was  that  of  a  man  who  had  just 
accomplished  a  pleasant  duty.  He  was  asleep 
before  I  was,  but  not  long. 


' 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  271 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

My  purse,  my  person,  my  extremest  means, 
Lie  all  unlocked  to  your  occasions. 

SHAKSPEARE. 


IT  had  been  arranged  that  John  should  Awaken 
us  in  a  few  hours,  and  take  his  turn  ;  but  he  had 
no  thought  of  this,  and  we  slept  on  until  broad  day- 
light. We  were  then  roused,  and  commenced  our 
search  ;  but,  though  aided  by  Balcombe,  who  re- 
turned to  us  at  an  early  hour,  we  searched  in  vain. 
Yet  we  did  not  desist  until  every  spot  within  the 
possible  range  to  which  Montague  might  have 
thrown  the  packet,  had  been  examined  over  and 
over  again.  When  no-thing  could  be  more  certain 
than  that  the  packet  was  not  there,  we  went  on  to 
Frederick  sburg. 

What  was  now  to  be  done  ?  My  solicitor  was 
consulted,  who  said  that  we  could  do  no  more  than 
file  the  answer  of  Major  Swann,  and  await  the 
coming  in  of  that  of  Mr.  Edward  Raby.  On  this 
there  was  little  reason  to  found  any  hope,  but  such 
was  the  regular  course  of  business.  An  affidavit 
of  James  Scott,  explaining  how  he  had  lost  the 
paper  committed  to  him,  was  also  left  with  the 
solicitor,  to  be  filed  with  the  answer.  It  only  re- 


272  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

mained  to  take  the  proper  measures  to  free  James 
from  the  charge  of  homicide,  and  we  were  ready 
to  go  home. 

Even  when  I  journeyed  from  Missouri,  not  sure 
that  I  might  not  find  Ann  the  wife  of  another,  I 
hardly  thought  of  my  return  to  Craiganet  with 
more  pain  than  I  now  did.  At  the  very  moment 
when  the  packet  was  within  my  reach,  and  almost 
within  my  grasp,  it  had  been  carried  off,  and  I  had 
lost  all  trace  of  it.  The  very  death  of  Montague 
seemed  fatal  to  my  hopes.  While  he  lived,  there 
was  one  who  knew,  however  unwilling  he  might 
be  to  tell,  what  I  wished  to  prove.  Even  the 
chance  that,  in  his  habitual  dread  of  direct  perjury, 
the  truth  might  be  wrung  from  him  on  examina- 
tion, was  better  than  any  that  now  remained.  It 
seemed  most  probable  that  Montague  had  put  the 
packet  in  the  hands  of  one  of  his  accomplices. 
But  who  were  they?  Only  one  of  them  I  had 
ever  seen,  and  as  he  was  an  utter  stranger,  I  had 
little  hope  of  finding  him.  That  he  would  never 
designedly  cross  my  path  was  now  sure. 

Under  these  circumstances,  I  was  not  sorry  to 
learn  from  Balcombe  that  business  called  him 
down  into  the  county  of  Northumberland,  and 
that  he  would  be  gratified  if  I  would  accompany 
him.  I  readily  agreed  to  do  so,  and  wrote  my 
poor  mother  an  account  of  the  final  defeat  of  all 
my  hopes.  James,  who  feared  the  story  of  our  ad- 
venture might  reach  his  sister  in  a  distorted  shape, 
pleaded  that  as  a  motive  for  going  direct  to  Raby 


GEORGE  BALCOMBE. 


273 


Hall.  Balcombe  at  once  assented  to  this,  and  he 
left  us,  and  returned  to  Port  Royal  the  same 
evening.  We,  not  having  any  occasion  to  reach 
Northumberland  before  court  day,  which  was  yet 
three  days  off,  remained  where  we  were  until 
morning. 

The  reader  may  charge  me  with  ingratitude,  but 
I  was  half  vexed  at  the  perfect  tranquillity  with 
which  Balcombe  bore  this  final  disappointment. 
When  I  saw  him  retain  his  cheerfulness  and  confi- 
dence under  our  former  defeats,  I  caught  the  con- 
tagion of  his  feelings.  When  I  saw  him  look  death 
and  dishonour  steadily  in  the  face,  I  did  but  ad- 
mire his  fortitude  and  energy.  But  now  I  could 
not  look  on  the  perfect  nonchalance  of  his  counte- 
nance without  vexation.  He  saw  this,  and  endeav- 
oured to  wile  me  from  myself,  by  throwing  into 
his  conversation  a  double  portion  of  that  spirit  and 
raciness  which  I  had  so  much  admired.  But  it 
was  all  in  vain.  I  was  incurably  dull,  dejected, 
and  miserable. 

"  Come,  come,  William  !"  said  Balcombe,  "  this 
will  never  do.  You  must  learn  to  shake  off  vain 
regrets,  and  try  to  interest  yourself  in  what  yet 
remains  to  be  done." 

"  And  what  remains  to  be  done  ?"  asked  I. 

11  Certainly  not  to  lie  down  in  despair,  and  wait 
for  death.  Can  you  find  nothing  to  occupy  your 
thoughts  but  what  cannot  be  helped  ?  You  have 
never  asked  me  yet  what  takes  me  to  Northum- 
berland." 


274 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


"  I  am  not  sure  I  have  a  right  to  ask,"  said  I. 
"  You  have  never  before  spoken  to  me  of  any 
business  you  had  there,  and  it  might  be  indelicate 
to  make  the  inquiry." 

"Too  scrupulous  by  half,"  replied  Balcombe. 
"  Well,  don't  you  want  to  know  ?" 

"  I  should  be  well  pleased  to  know,"  said  I,  "  if 
you  think  proper  to  inform  me." 

"  Nay,"  said  Balcombe,  '*  I  speak  not  to  the  ear 
of  drowsy  indifference.  Rouse  up,  man,  and  prom- 
ise to  take  a  proper  interest  in  my  affair,  and  I  will 
tell  you." 

There  was  so  much  kindness  and  playfulness  in 
this  reproach,  that,  feeling  its  justice,  I  could  not 
help  blaming  myself.  I  turned  my  eyes  on  Bal- 
combe, and  found  his  resting  on  me  with  an  ex- 
pression which  said,  "  Up,  up,  and  be  a  man !"  and 
I  determined  to  make  the  effort.  Did  I  not  de- 
serve at  the  moment  something  of  the  same  rebuke 
I  had  given  Jane  a  few  days  before  ?  I  felt  so, 
and  said, 

"  My  dear  sir,  it  has  been  all  along  one  of  my 
griefs,  that  you  are  always  so  sufficient  to  yourself 
that  I  can  never  think  of  doing  anything  for  you, 
before  you  have  already  done  it  for  yourself.  Show 
me  anything  in  which  I  can  serve  you,  and  I  will 
promise  to  forget  all  private  troubles  until  it  is 
accomplished." 

"Spoken  like  a  man,"  said  Balcombe.  "  Spoken 
like  a  man  whose  heart  is  in  his  friend's  welfare. 
Such  is  the  stuff  that  friendship  is  made  of.  The 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE, 


275 


material  is  nevertheless  often  spoiled  by  circum- 
stances which  render  long-continued  and  engross- 
ing attention  to  one's  own  interest  necessary  and 
even  laudable.  When,  in  such  a  pursuit,  we  have 
occasion  to  engage  the  devoted  co-operation  of 
others,  we  are  apt  to  forget  that  we  are  made  for 
them,  as  well  as  they  for  us.  Something  to  break 
the  continuity  of  the  reign  of  self,  that  master  fiend 
who  leads  the  hosts  of  the  apostate  angels,  is  not 
amiss.  Now  tell  me.  In  all  your  troubles — 
have  you  the  heart  to  rejoice  at  the  prosperity  of 
a  friend?" 

I  was  really  hurt  at  this ;  and  Balcombe  saw  in 
my  manner  that  to  doubt  it  would  be  to  do  me 
injustice ;  and  I  assured  him  that  such  a  question 
seriously  asked  would  give  me  more  pain  than  my 
late  defeat. 

"  I  believe  you,  Will,"  said  he.  "  You  are  a 
truehearted  fellow ;  but  we  must  not  let  your 
better  feelings  perish  for  want  of  exercise.  Well, 
then,  to  come  to  the  point ;  I  am  going  to  North- 
umberland to  claim  and  take  possession  of  a 
handsome  estate." 

"  Good  God  !"  exclaimed  I,  "  is  it  possible  that 
your  attention  to  my  affairs  has  so  engrossed  you, 
that  you  have  never  given  a  thought  to  that  ?" 

"  That  ought  to  have  been  a  sufficient  reason,  but 
I  am  not  sure  it  would  have  been.  But  the  true 
reason  was  (and  you  will  admit  it  to  have  been 
all-sufficient)  that  I  never  knew  of  it  myself  until 
this  morning.  It  comes  very  apropos  at  this  mo- 


276  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

ment,  because,  having  enough  cf  my  own,  I  can 
share  this  with  you." 

"  Oh,  no  more  of  that,  my  dear  sir,"  said  I. 
"  Your  own  family  have  claims  on  you  that  must 
not  be  overlooked." 

"  Would  you  not  have  insisted  on  sharing  your 
good  fortune  with  me,"  said  Balcombe,  "had  you 
been  successful  ?" 

"  I  certainly  should,"  said  I,  "  have  pressed  on 
you  the  acceptance  of  your  old  residence  of  Raby 
Hall,  as  strongly  as  my  respect  for  your  delicacy 
would  permit.  But  pray  tell  me,  how  comes  this 
windfall  ?" 

"By  the  will  of  an  old  friend." 

"  Strange  1"  said  I ;  "I  have  never  heard  you 
speak  of  such  a  one." 

"  Yes,  you  have,  over  and  often." 

I  tried  to  remember. 

«  Who  can  it  be  ?"  asked  I. 

"  Your  grandfather." 

I  stared,  and  Balcombe,  laughing,  said  to  Keizer, 
who  had  come  in  during  our  conversation, 

"  Come,  John,  tell  your  part  of  the  story." 

"  I  shall  be  right  glad  to  do  that,  colonel,"  said 
John ;  "  for  I  have  been  ready  to  burst  all  day  to 
see  Mr.  Napier  looking  as  if  every  friend  he  had 
in  the  world  was  dead." 

*'  Well,  John,"  said  I,  "  tell  your  tale,  and  if  you 
cannot  bring  them  to  life  nothing  can." 

"  Why  you  see,  sir,"  said  John,  "  I  don't  know 
as  I  ever  rightly  got  the  nature  of  this  business. 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  277 

But  last  night  when  you  and  James  Scott  was  a 
talking,  I  found  out  that  for  all  you  wanted  to  get 
that  bundle  of  papers  into  the  court,  you'd  a  heap 
rather  have  it  yourself.  And  I  seed,  too,  that 
James,  and  all,  would  be  glad  if  you  did  have  it, 
only  just  his  word  was  out,  and  it  would  not  do 
for  him  to  let  you  get  them  if  he  could  help  it.  But 
then,  thinks  I,  what  if  you  can't  help  it?  nobody 
can  blame  you  then.  So  with  that  I  makes  up  my 
mind,  if  the  thing  fell  to  me  in  the  search,  nobody 
should  know  it  till  I  had  a  chance  to  ask  the  colo- 
nel what  to  do.  As  soon  as  I  seed  you  and  James 
fast  asleep,  I  takes  a  knot  of  lightwood,  and  I  goes 
right  straight  to  it." 

"  How  did  you  know  where  it  was  ?"  said  I. 

"  Why  you  see,  sir,  when  I  went  feeling  about 
the  fellow  to  find  if  he  had  it  in  his  hands,  I  saw 
that  his  left  hand  was  stretched  right  out  from  his 
body  just  so,  and  the  hand  wide  open ;  and  I  made 
sure  that  he  threw  the  bundle  right  that  way  his 
arm  pointed,  and  that  just  as  he  did  it  James  had 
given  him  the  dig  that  settled  him.  So  when  I 
heard  the  talk  about  who  should  go,  and  who 
should  stay,  and  where  the  bundle  was,  thinks  I, 
I  will  stay  for  one  anyhow,  and  as  to  the  bundle,  I 
guess  I  know  where  it  is,  but  it's  no  use  to  say  so. 
So  I  just  kept  dark  about  it,  as  1  didn't  mean  to  do 
nothing  but  what  was  right,  and  I  knowed  the 
colonel  could  tell  me  how  that  was.  So  you  see, 
sir,  the  ditch  was  wide  and  the  bank  was  high,  and 
then  there  was  a  hedge  a  top  of  it,  and  I  made 

VOL.  II. — A  A 


275  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

sure  Montague  couldn't  throw  over  that,  and  he 
most  the  same  as  dead.  So  I  just  looks  to  see 
where  he  lay,  and  takes  my  course;  and  sure 
enough  there  it  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  ditch  in  a 
hole  of  water.  So  I  starts  right  off  a  little  way 
down  the  road,  and  puts  it  clean  out  of  the  way 
for  fear  somebody  might  take  a  notion  that  I  had 
found  it ;  and  W7hen  we  started  I  just  rides  close  to 
the  colonel,  and  says  I, 

" '  I  wish  you'd  send  me  back  to  look  for  your 
handkerchief  or  something/  says  I. 

0  And  with  that  the  colonel  looks  right  sharp  at 
me,  and  I  sorter  smiled,  and  then  ,says  he,  (don't 
you  remember  that,  Mr.  Napier?)  says  he, 

"  *  John,  I  wish  you'd  ride  back  and  see  if  I  have 
not  left  my  knife  yonder.' 

"  So  I  goes  back,  sir,  and  gets  the  bundle,  and 
when  I  comes  up,  says  the  colonel, 

"  <  What's  this  now,  John  ?' 

"  Says  I,  « I've  got  the  bundle,  sir,  and  I  thought 
I  would  tell  you  first,  'cause  I  thought  you'd  know 
best  what  I  ought  to  do  with  it.' 

"  *  Maybe  you  are  right,'  says  he.  « And  it  can- 
not do  any  harm  to  think  about  it,  anyhow.' 

"  So  you  see,  sir,  as  soon  as  we  gets  here  I  gives 
it  to  him  ;  and  there's  an  end  of  my  part  of  the 
story." 

«*  And  now  for  my  part,"  said  Balcombe.  "  You 
remember,  William,  when  I  proposed  at  Raby 
Hall  to  try  to  catch  M.ontague,  I  assigned,  as  a 
reason,  my  desire  not  to  throw  any  reproach  on 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  279 

the  name  of  Raby.  Now  that  chancery  suit  could 
not  be  successfully  prosecuted  without  fixing  in- 
famy on  Mr.  Edward  Raby.  But  there  was  no- 
thing as  yet  but  the  bill,  which  could  be  dismissed 
and  withdrawn,  so  as  to  leave  no  trace  of  the 
transaction  on  record.  Moreover,  although  the 
production  of  the  will  would  be  decisive  on  the 
main  point,  yet  there  was  a  long  controversy  be- 
hind about  rents  and  profits.  All  this  Mr.  Raby 
will  be  glad  to  settle  amicably  and  privately,  and, 
in  the  mean  time,  the  will  being  proved  this  week 
in  Northumberland,  you  can  enter  at  once  on  the 
estate,  and  your  poor  mother  will  not  be  left  with- 
out a  home  on  Newyear's  day,  as  she  otherwise 
must  be.  Now  all  these  points  are  secured  by 
keeping  dark,  as  John  says ;  and,  as  to  poor  James, 
no  man  can  say  that  he  was  not  as  true  to  his  trust 
as  a  dog  to  the  dead  body  of  his  master." 

"  Then  you  really  have  the  will  ?"  said  I. 

"  Really  and  bonafide  the  very  paper  1  witnessed, 
and  more  too." 

"  What  more  ?" 

"A codicil  containing  a  small  bequest  to  myself, 
which  I  dare  say  suggested  to  Montague  the  first 
thought  of  suppressing  the  whole,  through  his 
hatred  to  me.  You  must  understand,"  continued 
Balcombe, "  what  until  now  I  did  not  think  proper 
to  tell  you.  When  I  left  Raby  Hall  and  returned 
to  Barnard's  Castle,  to  announce  my  purpose  of 
going  to  seek  my  fortune  in  the  world,  the  kind  old 
man  opposed  it  strongly. 

1 


280  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

"  *  You  are  my  son,  George/  said  he  ;  'and,  ex- 
cept that  curly-headed  chap,'  (meaning  you,  Wil- 
liam,) *  my  only  son.  I  had  formed  a  plan  of  life 
for  you,  which  I  trust  would  have  met  your  wishes. 
My  necessary  expenses,  and  those  of  Mr.  Napier, 
don't  permit  me  to  furnish  you  with  an  outfit  proper 
for  such  a  life  of  adventure  as  I  fear  you  propose 
to  yourself.  But  this  will  not  prevent  my  provi- 
ding for  you  amply  and  permanently,  if  you  will 
stay  with  me.' 

"  The  temptation  was  strong.  In  my  right  mind 
I  should  not  have  resisted  it ;  but  the  fiery  arrow 
was  in  my  brain.  A  small  sum  was  all  the  good 
old  gentleman  could  conveniently  spare  at  the 
moment,  and  I  would  receive  no  more.  I  well 
remember  the  day.  The  very  next  day  is  the  date 
of  this  codicil,  which  recites  his  previous  intention 
of  providing  for  me  by  giving  me  the  old  hall,  with 
a  considerable  portion  of  land  as  well  as  negroes, 
stock,  books,  &c. ;  that  with  that  view  he  had 
placed  me  there,  to  familiarize  me  to  my  future 
home,  and  acquaint  me  with  the  proper  manage- 
ment of  the  property,  and  then  goes  on  to  bequeath 
it  to  me." 

"  Thank  God !"  exclaimed  I.  "  This  is  just  as  I 
would  have  it ;  and  now  I  shall  have  no  contest 
with  your  delicacy." 

"You  shall  have  none,"  said  Balcombe.  "But 
to  my  tale.  And  see  how  self  has  crossed  my 
path,  find  what  a  dance  it  has  led  me.  Before  I 
should  take  my  course  definitely,  I  determined  to 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


281 


consult  Mr.  L ,  and  found  he  concurred  with 

me  entirely. 

" '  Moreover,'  said  he,  *  if  you  happen  to  be  on 
the  wrong  scent,  and  the  paper  is  not  here  after 
all,  better  to  dismiss  the  action  than  let  your  moun- 
tain actually  bring  forth  a  mouse.' 

"  This  had  not  occurred  to  me,  because  /  had 
no  doubt.  In  him,  who  had  less  reason  to  be  con- 
fident, it  was  wise.  I  had  taken  the  precaution 
not  to  open  the  packet  all  this  time,  though  it  was 
wringing  wet.  We  now  opened  it  together.  You 
remember  its  great  size." 

"  Yes.     How  was  that  ?" 

"  Nothing  but  a  blind,  I  suppose,  to  keep  poor 
Mary  from  suspecting  the  truth.  But  it  was  the 
means,  after  all,  of  saving  the  papers.  There 
were  not  less  than  a  dozen  newspapers,  with  the 
will  and  codicil  in  the  midst.  The  external  papers 
were  in  part  destroyed  by  the  wet ;  the  enclosure 
perfectly  safe.  I  took  care  to  leave  them  in  the 

hands  of  Mr.  L ,  who  will  attend  at  court  "to 

prove  how  he  came  by  them.  Your  bill  has  been 
withdrawn ;  the  answer  was  not  filed,  and  Mr. 

L has  James's  affidavit,  which,  without  his 

approbation,  we  would  not  destroy." 


282  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

"  The  far-descended  honours  of  a  race 
Illustrious  in  the  annals  of  old  time 
Are  mine,  and  I'll  uphold  them.     Ill  exchanged 
For  gilded  shame." 

IT  may  be  readily  believed  that  I  was  now 
eager  to  be  off  to  Northumberland.  The  next 
day  we  commenced  our  journey,  and  never  had  I 
performed  one  with  so  light  a  heart.  We  had  a 
day  to  spare,  and  that  day  we  spent  at  Barnard's 
Castle,  which,  until  within  the  last  five  years,  had 
been  my  home.  The  house  was  in  excellent  pres- 
ervation, the  furniture  good,  though  somewhat 
oldfashioned,  (no  fault  in  my  eyes,)  and  everything 
nearly  as  my  grandfather  had  left  it  at  his  death. 
I  looked  on  this  mark  of  respect  to  his  memory,  as 
a  sign  of  grace  in  Mr.  Edward  Raby,  which  made 
me  rejoice  that  I  should  be  able  to  do  myself  justice 
without  dishonouring  him.  The  old  house  ser- 
vants, for  the  most  part,  retained  their  former 
offices,  though  now  sinecures ;  and  the  overseer, 
though  I  gave  no  hint  of  my  rights,  received  me 
with  hereditary  respect,  and  treated  me  in  all 
things  as  if  I  had  been  master  of  the  whole  estate. 
Had  he  done  otherwise  the  negroes  would  have 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  283 

been  tempted  to  rebel  against  his  authority ;  for 
my  presence  was  a  jubilee  (sad  and  tearful,  indeed, 
but  yet  a  jubilee)  to  them.  I  prevailed  on  the 
overseer  to  accompany  me  to  court,  and  there 
made  him  witness  with  his  own  eyes  the  unex- 
pected proceeding,  which  established  me  as  ex- 
ecutor and  devisee  in  the  rightful  possession  of  the 
whole  property.  He  had  served  my  grandfather, 
who  had  been  satisfied  with  him.  He  had  been 
less  successful  in  pleasing  Mr.  Edward  Raby,  and 
I  have  no  doubt  was  quite  sincere  in  his  congratu- 
lations on  the  event. 

Indeed  the  sensation  produced  by  the  sudden 
presentation  of  the  will  seemed  to  run  through  the 
whole  assembled  crowd.  The  handwriting  of  my 
grandfather  was  known  to  every  person  present. 
So  was  Montague's.  Balcombe's  testimony  was 
clear  and  positive  ;  and  the  codicil,  altogether 
written  by  my  grandfather,  proved  itself.  There 
was  no  need  to  ask  whence  the  papers  came.  The 
thing  admitted  of  no  doubt.  No  security  being 
required  of  the  executor,  to  which  office  my  father 
and  myself  were  named,  letters  testamentary  were 
at  once  granted,  and  I  was  restored  to  the  inherit- 
ance of  my  fathers.  Then  came  a  scene.  Every 
one  who  had  known  me  pressed  to  speak  to  me ; 
those  who  had  known  my  grandfather  asked  to 
be  introduced.  The  business  of  the  court  was 
suspended.  The  worthy  old  members  of  that 
"  paternal  tribunal"  (blessing  on  his  name  who 
first  so  designated  it !)  left  the  bench  to  take  by 


284  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

the  hand  the  grandson  and  heir  of  their  old  friend 
and  associate  in  office ;  and  more  than  one,  point- 
ing to  the  »seat  he  had  long  filled  as  presiding 
justice,  expressed  a  hope  to  see  it  occupied  by 
myself. 

I  was  now  impatient  to  return  to  Craiganet,  and 
wipe  away  the  tears  my  letter  from  Fredericks- 
burg  must  have  drawn  from  the  eyes  of  the  dear 
ones  there.  Raby  Hall  lay  directly  in  our  way, 
and  thither  we  went.  Nothing  could  be  more 
unexpected  or  more  welcome  than  our  news.  The 
amiable  old  major  highly  approved  the  course  we 
had  pursued,  as  affording  a  salvo  for  his  patron's 
honour;  and  even  James's  jealous  scruples  were 
satisfied  by  Balcombe,  though  at  first  he  looked 
quite  indignant  on  finding  that  John  had  played 
him  false.  But  John  had  but  laboured  in  his  voca- 
tion. It  was  so  long  since  he  had  an  opportunity 
of  playing  a  trick  of  any  sort,  that  he  languished 
for  want  of  exercise  in  that  way.  He  had  begun 
to  think  for  some  time  that  he  was  of  no  account, 
but  was  now  restored  to  favour  with  himself.  To 
the  major  and  poor  Mary  the  most  agreeable  part 
of  the  whole  was  to  acknowledge  Balcombe  as 
master  of  Raby  Hall.  The  former  entertained 
for  him  the  highest  regard,  and  to  the  latter  he  was 
everything  in  the  world.  It  was  easily  arranged 
that  the  old  gentleman  should  retain  his  office,  and, 
for  a  time  at  least,  his  residence.  As  to  Mary, 
she  was  now  sure  of  every  comfort  in  life  which 
her  former  misfortunes  left  her  capable  of  enjoying, 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


285 


and  to  receive  these  at  the  hand  of  Balcombe 
would  be  no  burden  to  her  heart. 

But  of  all  who  rejoiced  at  my  change  of  fortune 
there  was  no  joy  like  that  of  the  negroes.  One 
after  another,  soon  after  nightfall,  they  came 
thronging.  One  had  heard  the  news  and  told  it 
to  a  dozen  ;  it  was  soon  spread  over  the  estate ; 
and,  from  the  old  man  hobbling  on  his  crutch  to 
the  infant  in  arms,  all  were  assembled  in  the  yard. 
It  seems  they  had  heard  that  I  should  set  out  at 
daylight  next  day,  and  see  me  they  must.  There, 
then,  they  all  were ;  many  held  torches  of  light- 
wood,  the  red  glare  of  which,  as  I  looked  through 
the  window,  gleamed  with  picturesque  effect  on 
their  rude  garments,  and  dusky  but  shining  skins. 
I  was  requested  to  go  out  and  place  myself  in  the 
door.  Charles  now  came  forward,  grinning  and 
wriggling. 

"  The  folks  want  to  know,  master,  if  you  is  their 
master  sure  enough  ?" 

"  I  am,  my  good  fellows,"  said  I,  aloud.  "  Your 
old  master's  grandson  is  your  master  sure  enough" 

This  answer  was  the  signal  for  a  general  rejoic- 
ing such  as  I  never  saw.  The  shout,  not  mechan- 
ically simultaneous,  but  bursting  spontaneously  at 
intervals  through  the  din  of  many  tongues,  the 
spasmodic  clapping  of  the  hands  above  the  head, 
the  tattered  hat  tossed  aloft,  "  as  if  to  hang  it  on 
the  horns  of  the  moon,"  the  wild  loud  ringing 
echoing  laugh,  the  hurried  running  of  each  back- 
ward and  forward  through  the  crowd,  and  the 


286  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

vehement  shake  of  the  hand  interchanged  by  those 
who  felt  best  assured  of  each  other's  sympathy, 
made  a  scene,  which  he,  who  would  know  human 
nature  in  all  its  aspects,  would  do  well  to  study. 
For  the  moment,  at  least,  I  was  a  convert  to  Bal- 
combe's  doctrines  on  the  subject.  When  the  tumult 
was  over,  one  and  another  advanced  to  touch  my 
hand.  I  gave  it  cordially  to  each,  nor  did  I  leave 
my  position  until  I  had  received  and  returned  the 
gratulating  grasp  of  all  the  larger  negroes,  and 
patted  the  head  of  every  little  knotty-pated  urchin 
of  the  whole. 

After  supper,  Major  Swann,  with  some  hesitancy, 
told  us  that,  during  our  absence,  he  had  received  a 
letter  from  Mr.  Edward  Raby,  covering  one  to 
Montague.  He  said  that  there  were  expressions 
and  directions  in  the  former  which  left  little  doubt 
in  his  mind  that  the  latter  would  show,  that  Mr. 
Raby  either  did  not  understand,  or  highly  disap- 
proved the  conduct  of  Montague.  Eager  to  vin- 
dicate him,  and  to  prepare  the  way  for  an  amica- 
ble adjustment  of  the  whole  affair,  he  wished  to 
open  the  letter,  and  lay  the  contents  before  us. 

"I  am  not  merely  the  steward  of  Edward 
Raby,"  said  he ;  "  I  am  his  old  and  trusted  friend. 
I  love  and  honour  him,  and  am  willing  to  peril  my 
honour  to  vindicate  his.  How  say  you,  gentle- 
men? I  beg  your  advice.  Shall  I  open  this 
letter  ?" 

I  shall  not  stop  to  discuss  the  propriety  of  the 
advice  we  gave.  Major  Swann  and  Mr.  Raby 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  287 

had  been  friends  from  youth  to  age,  and  catching 
the  infection  of  his  enthusiastic  confidence  in  his 
friend's  honour,  we  ventured  to  advise  the  step. 
The  letter  was  opened  and  read  aloud  by  Bal- 
combe.  It  ran  thus  : — 


"  Mr.  Edward  Montague. 

"  SIR, 

"  Your  extraordinary  communication  of  the  15th 
ultimo  is  before  me.  In  answering  it  I  find  my- 
self under  the  necessity  of  adverting  to  much 
more  than  it  contains ;  and  I  shall  do  so  fully,  be- 
cause I  find  it  necessary  to  make  you  understand 
distinctly  the  relation  between  us. 

"  In  the  first  place  then,  sir,  let  me  say  that  it  is 
not  a  relation  which  authorizes  you  to  make  me 
your  debtor  at  your  own  pleasure,  on  any  occasion 
or  to  any  amount  that  you  may  think  proper. 
With  the  ink  hardly  dry  on  the  last  check  drawn 
in  your  favour,  I  have  here  an  account  in  which 
you  claim  against  me  the  round  sum  of  two  thou- 
sand dollars,  made  up  of  four  equal  items.  The 
lumping  character  of  these  charges,  the  beautiful 
harmony  of  the  constituent  parts  of  the  account, 
and  the  perfect  symmetry  of  the  collective  whole, 
show  to  great  advantage  on  paper ;  though  it  is 
not  easy  to  conceive  of  such  a  concurrence  of  for- 
tuitous circumstances,  as  could  thus  round  off  in 
the  whole  and  in  all  the  parts  a  set  of  purely  inci- 
dental charges.  This  objection  I  should  insist  on, 


288  GEORGE  BALCOMBE. 

if  you  had  any  right  to  charge  me  at  all,  which  I 
deny.     Let  us  review  your  account,  sir. 

"  First,  I  am  charged  with  five  hundred  dollars, 
as  so  much  paid  to  a  gang  of  ruffians,  to  aid  you 
in  obtaining  from  some  man  in  the  wilds  of  Mis- 
souri, the  means  of  getting  into  your  possession  a 
certain  document,  which  you  say  elsewhere  is 
safely  lodged  in  my  own  house  at  Rdby  Hall,  Vir- 
ginia. To  this  I  have  but  to  say,  sir,  that  when- 
ever you  have  occasion  to  hire  a  bravo  to  do  that 
which  a  man  of  honour  would  not  think  of,  or  a 
brave  man  would  do  for  himself,  I  beg  you  will 
draw  on  your  resources. 

"  Secondly,  I  am  charged  with  a  like  sum  paid 
to  a  lawyer,  to  engage  him  to  prosecute  to  the  last 
extremity  this  same  man,  for  a  crime  of  which,  by 
your  own  showing,  he  was  not  guilty.  Need  I  say 
to  this,  sir,  that,  when  next  you  meditate  a  scheme 
of  revenge  to  be  accomplished  by  a  judicial  murder, 
I  hope  you  will  not  again  call  on  me  to  become  an 
accessary  to  the  crime. 

"I  am  next  called  on  to  refund  five  hundred  dol- 
lars, as  the  alleged  amount  of  the  expense  of  a 
journey  to  and  from  Virginia,  and  as  much  more 
for  your  time  and  trouble  therein.  I  shall  no 
otherwise  comment  on  these  charges  than  by  con- 
gratulating you  on  the  discovery  of  the  means  of 
travelling  and  taking  your  pleasure  without  ex- 
pense. To  such  of  our  gentry  and  nobility  as 
waste  their  time  and  money  in  touring  it  over  the 
Continent,  it  would  be  invaluable.  Bring  it  with 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

you  to  this  country,  sir,  and  your  fortune  is  made. 
Be  sure,  too,  when  you  come,  to  charge  the  ex- 
pense of  that  journey  to  me,  and  let  me  hope  that 
you  will  take  occasion  at  the  same  time  to  honour 
my  poor  dwelling  with  a  visit. 

"  I  find  that  I  owe  an  apology  to  myself  for  the 
language  which  my  indignation  has  drawn  from 
me.  I  will  make  the  due  amende  by  using  all 
possible  moderation  in  saying  what  remains  to  be 
said. 

"  Let  me  then  ask,  sir,  how  it  comes  that  I  hear, 
at  this  time  of  day,  of  the  existence  of  that  docu- 
ment ?  Am  I  to  find  the  answer  in  your  delicate 
hint  that  that  paper  is  your  only  security  for  the 
fulfilment  of  my  engagements  to  you  ?  Is  it  pos- 
sible that  I  read  this  passage  of  your  letter  aright  ? 
Do  you  indeed  mean  to  insinuate  that  an  engage- 
ment to  which  my  word  is  pledged  needs  any  other 
guarantee  ?  If  such  was  your  meaning,  sir,  you 
will  find  the  origin  of  the  thought  in  your  own 
conscious  baseness,  and  you  will  owe  your  im- 
punity to  the  same  cause.  But  though  you  dared 
to  intimate  this,  it  was  not  this  you  meant.  It  is 
not  a  pledge  for  the  performance  of  past  promises, 
but  a  means  of  future  and  unlimited  exaction  that 
you  would  preserve.  Your  dexterous  hint  at  the 
urgent  necessities  of  my  young  kinsman  of  Craig- 
anet,  could  hardly  fail  to  make  me  see  that  you 
flatter  yourself  that  he  would  gladly  purchase  at 
a  high  price  the  important  secret  of  which  you 
affect  to  be  the  depositary.  I  say  affect,  sir,  be- 

VOL.  II. B  B 


290  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

cause  I  am  by  no  means  sure  that  I  have  not  been 
your  dupe.  When  you  first  told  me  that  Mr. 
Raby  had  executed  and  placed  in  your  hands  a 
will  which  he  afterward  directed  you  to  destroy, 
and  that  you  had  neglected  to  do  so,  and  when  you 
required  of  me  a  price  to  bribe  you  to  the  late  per- 
formance of  this  duty,  could  I  fail  to  see  that  I  had 
to  do  with  a  villain,  who  would  sell  himself  to 
others,  if  I  would  not  buy  him  ?  I  therefore  took 
you  at  your  word.  I  did  not  demand  to  see  the 
paper,  for  what  should  hinder  you  to  forge  another. 
I  took  more  effectual  security  against  you,  by 
wringing  from  you  a  reluctant  oath  that  you  knew 
not  what  had  become  of  that  paper.  Will  you 
now  brave  the  penalties  of  perjury  and  suppression 
of  a  will,  by  bringing  it  forward  ?  Can  it  be  proved 
by  your  oath  against  your  oath  ?  No,  sir ;  I  put 
you  at  defiance,  and  you  feel  that  you  are  power- 
less to  harm  me.  u^v, 

"  Have  I  forgotten  how  you  cowered  under  my 
eye,  when  I  compelled  you  to  answer  that  decisive 
question  ?  Have  I  forgotten  how  the  beaded  drops 
stood  on  your  pale  forehead  at  that  moment? 
Whether  your  emotion  was  the  effect  of  a  convic- 
tion that  from  that  time  you  had  no  security  but 
my  honour,  the  price  of  which  you  knew  not  how 
to  estimate,  or  shrank  at  the  idea  of  committing 
deliberate  perjury,  if  perjury  it  was,  I  know  not. 
I  would  to  God  I  did.  I  would  to  God  I  had  any 
means  of  knowing  whether  you  had  but  done  me 
justice,  or  made  me  the  instrument  of  injustice  to 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  291 

others.  Could  I  be  assured  of  the  last,  sir,  not  the 
waves  of  the  Atlantic,  nor  the  wilds  in  which  you 
have  sought  to  hide  your  baseness,  no,  not  even 
your  baseness  itself,  should  screen  you  from  my 
resentment 

"  For  one  thing  at  least  I  have  cause  to  thank 
you.  By  acquainting  me  with  the  distresses  of 
my  young  kinsman,  you  show  me  how  to  do  my 
duty,  as  the  head  of  my  house,  by  those  of  whom 
the  law  of  primogeniture  makes  me  the  protector. 
I  say  this  that  you  may  see  how  little  liable  I  am 
to  be  influenced  "by  the  sordid  fear  to  which  you 
would  appeal.  Show  me  what  justice  requires, 
and  give  me  reason  to  believe  your  word,  and  I 
will  do  it  gladly.  Now  mark  me,  sir.  You  say 
the  supposed  document  is  in  your  power,  at  least 
with  the  co-operation  of  Mr.  Swann.  I  shall  write 
and  direct  him  to  give  you  this  co-operation.  Now» 
sir,  when  it  is  recovered,  put  it  into  his  hands. 
When  I  hear  from  him  that  it  is  there,  I  shall  then 
order  the  payment  of  five  thousand  dollars  to  you 
in  full  of  all  demands,  and  endeavour  to  form  my 
own  judgment  of  my  rights  and  duties  on  my  own 
view  of  the  paper.  This  will  terminate  all  my 
connection  with  you.  Terminate  it  shall.  If  no 
such  paper  is  found  and  delivered  up  to  Mr. 
Swann,  it  shall  cease  at  once.  Directly  or  indi- 
rectly, never  again  presume  to  address  yourself  to 

"EDWARD  RABY. 

u  Raby  Hall,  Northumberland  county, ) 
England,  Nov.  18th,  1820."  > 


292  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

As  Balcombe  read  this  letter  I  was  inconceiva- 
bly affected.  The  favourable  light  it  threw  on  the 
character  of  one  whom  I  was  bound  to  consider 
(as  he  expressed  it)  as  the  head  of  my  house,  and 
whom  I  had  of  late  learned  to  detest,  was  truly  ac- 
ceptable to  me. 

The  good  old  major  bowed  his  head  on  his  hands, 
and  when  the  letter  was  gone  through,  raised  it 
and  said, 

"  Thank  God  !  the  idea  that  Edward  Raby  had, 
been  guilty  of  the  baseness  which  appeared  charge- 
able against  him  was  one  of  the  most  painful  that 
ever  entered  my  mind.  I  awaited  his  answer  in 
the  hope  that  that  would  clear  him.  I  now  see 
that  to  me  it  would  have  done  so,  but  to  the  world 
I  fear  it  would  not.  But  this  letter  frees  him  from 
every  imputation  but  that  of  having  treated  on  any 
terms  with  an  acknowledged  villain,  and  of  having 
bought  off  his  knavery.  This  was  unworthy  of 
Edward  Raby ;  but  how  venial  compared  with 
what  seemed  to  be  his  offence  ! 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Napier/'  said  the  old  gentle- 
man, "  I  will  no  longer  hesitate  to  fulfil  my  friend's 
commission,  and  hand  you  a  letter  enclosed  by 
him  for  your  mother.  The  purport  of  it  I  can 
guess  from  my  own.  If  it  be  such  as  I  suppose,  it 
is  such  a  letter  as  I  would  not  have  delivered  to 
Mrs.  Napier  while  the  conduct  of  Mr.  Raby  was 
unexplained.  Here  is  the  letter,  sir;  and  here, 
George,  is  a  passage  in  that  tt>  me  which  you 


GEORGE   BALCOMBE.  293 

must  read  aloud.  Edward  Raby  now  stands  fair 
before  the  world.  The  same  honourable  gentle- 
man that  I  knew  him  when  he  visited  his  uncle 
here  in  youth,  and  afterward,  when  I  travelled  in 
England ;  the  same  he  showed  himself  when  last 
here,  and  has  proved  himself  to  be  in  all  his  sub- 
sequent transactions  with  me.  Read  the  letter, 
George." 

Balcombe  did  as  he  was  requested.    The  pas- 
sage was  as  follows  : 

"  I  am  concerned  to  learn,  from  the  letter  of 
this  Montague,  that  my  young  kinsman,  Napier  of 
Craiganet,  has  fallen  into  poverty.     This  must  not 
be.      To   say  nothing  of  his   illustrious  descent 
through  his  father  from  a  most  distinguished  no- 
bleman, he  is  a  branch  of  the  house  of  Raby.     As 
such  it  belongs  to  me  to  fulfil  the  duty  contempla- 
ted by  the  very  law  in  deference  to  which  his 
grandfather  left  me  his  estate.    He  could  never 
have  been  justified  in  disinheriting  his  own  issue, 
but  for  a  well-founded  reliance  that  the  head  of 
the  family  would  perform  towards  them  the  duties 
of  an  elder  brother.    The  exact  measure  of  these 
duties  I  am  not  in  condition  to  ascertain.     But 
there  is  something  to  be  done  to  relieve  the  pres- 
ent distress.    I  beg  you,  therefore,  to  ascertain  the 
amount  of  encumbrances  on  his  father's  estate,  and 
in  the  mean  time  to  account  with  him  for  that  por- 
tion of  my  nett  income  which  proceeds  from  the 
fHroperty  at  Barnard's  Castle,  and  to  admit  Mrs, 

BB  2 


294  GEORGE   feALCOMB£< 

Napier  and  her  family  to  the  use  of  the  house  and 
all  it  contains." 

Balcombe  had  read  thus  far  aloud,  when  he 
dropped  the  letter,  and  exclaimed, 

"  Noble  !  noble !  nobly  done  !  Now  this  does 
my  very  soul  good.  Nauseated  with  Montague's 
villanies,  and  in  my  own  mind  implicating  this  gen- 
tleman in  them,  this  display  of  character  is  a  per- 
fect cordial.  It  is  light  shining  out  of  darkness. 
Why,  William,  the  discovery  of  such  a  character 
in  a  kinsman  is  worth  more  than  the  estate.  This 
must  be  answered  instantly,  and  in  its  own  spirit. 
Wives  and  sweethearts  must  wait  till  honour  is 
served,  for  it  will  never  do  to  be  outdone  in  this." 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

11  You  wrong  me,  lady.     Think  you  I  have  borne, 
So  long,  a  name  that  lives  in  history, 
Nor  learned  to  prize  its  proudest  honour  V\ 

THE  next  morning  Balcombe  wrote  a  detailed 
account  of  the  whole  affair.  In  this  he  took  care 
to  set  down  his  reasons  for  believing  that  Monta- 
gue had  deceived  Mr.  Raby,  when  he  told  him 
that  my  grandfather  had  ordered  the  destruction 
of  the  will.  In  the  law  of  the  case,  indeed,  this 


GEORGE   BALCOMBE.  295 

made  no  difference  ;  but  to  the  feelings  of  the  par- 
ties it  made  much.  Among  the  facts  he  mentioned 
the  last  letter  he  had  received  from  my  grandfather, 
in  which  he  spoke  of  his  favourable  designs  towards 
me.  Not  knowing  anything  of  the  quarrel  be- 
tween Balcombe  and  Montague,  he  spoke  gen- 
erally of  the  welfare  of  the  latter,  but  said  that  he 
had  not  seen  him  for  a  month.  This  was  decisive  ; 
for  Mr.  Raby  had  taken  a  memorandum  of  Mon- 
tague's communication  to  him,  by  which  it  ap- 
peared that  the  very  week  before  was  the  time 
when,  as  he  pretended,  he  was  ordered  to  destroy 
the  will.  This  I  think  it  right  to  mention  here, 
though  the  fact  was  not  known  to  us  until  the  re- 
ceipt of  Mr.  Raby's  answer. 

This  letter  was  accompanied  by  one  from  me, 
containing  an  offer  of  such  terms  of  accommoda- 
tion as  I  deemed  most  proper.  I  shall  not  trouble 
the  reader  with  a  statement  of  these.  I  beg  him 
to  believe  that  my  proposals  were  precisely  such 
as  in  his  estimation  I  ought  to  have  made.  When 
our  letters  were  finished,  we  placed  them  in  the 
hands  of  the  major,  to  be  sent  by  the  first  regular 
conveyance,  along  with  a  copy  of  the  will,  to  his 
principal.  • 

The  next  day  we  returned  to  Craiganet. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  said  Balcombe,  as  we 
rode  along,  "  of  that  devise  of  Raby  Hall  estate  to 
me.  It  makes  plain  what  has  heretofore  been  a 
puzzle.  There  was  certainly  no  man  on  earth 


296  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

whom  Montague  dreaded  more  than  me ;  and  I 
have  often  wondered  what  infatuation  carried  him 
to  Missouri,  knowing  that  I  was  there.  Stranger 
still,  he  certainly  more  than  once  threw  himself 
into  my  way,  and  though  he  always  crouched 
under  my  eye,  yet,  on  the  least  encouragement,  he 
would  make  up  to  me.  I  believe  I  told  you  that 
although  he  said  nothing  to  others  of  our  former 
acquaintance,  he  never  failed,  when  he  saw  an 
opening,  to  allude  to  it  to  me.  I  now  remember 
some  things  which  then  seemed  without  meaning, 
especially  his  frequent  allusions  to  Mr.  Raby's  pa- 
ternal regard  for  me,  and  the  benevolent  inten- 
tions he  had  heard  him  express.  You  observe 
that  this  codicil  was  not  the  subject  of  his  bargain 
with  Mr.  Edward  Raby,  who  probably  has  never 
heard  of  it.  How  easy,  then,  for  me  to  come  for* 
ward  and  produce  it,  without  laying  Montague 
liable  to  any  suspicion  of  breach  of  faith  with  that 
gentleman.  I  have  now  no  doubt  that  had  he 
found  me  at  all  practicable,  I  should  have  been  in- 
vited to  set  up  the  codicil,  and  let  him  go  snacks. 
But  I  remember  meeting  his  suggestions  by  a 
declaration  that  I  had  no  claims  on  Mr.  Raby,  and 
rejoiced,  as  he  had  disinherited  his  children,  that 
it  had  not  been  in  my  favour.  This,  I  think,  was 
our  last  conversation  on  the  subject." 

My  friends  had  heard  nothing  of  our  movements 
since  we  left  Fredericksburg,  and  were  in  total 
ignorance  of  the  late  important  event».  We  found 
them  sad  enough.  My  poor  mother  dejected  but 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  297 

resigned;  Jane  humbled  and  despondent.  Even 
my  merry  little  Laura  had  lost  something  of  her 
gayety  at  the  thoughts  of  being  banished  from  the 
home  of  her  infancy  ;  while  Ann,  though  satisfied 
with  her  lot,  seemed  to  feel  by  anticipation  the 
cares  of  a  life  of  poverty  and  difficulties.  Believing 
that  they  would  pass  the  night  in  more  composure 
under  impressions  to  which  their  minds  were  fa- 
miliarized, than  if  excited  at  that  hour  by  the  intelli- 
gence which  we  brought,  we  had  determined  to 
keep  them  in  ignorance  of  the  will  until  the  next 
morning.  All  were  gratified  to  see  that  my  pleas- 
ure at  returning  to  them  was  enough  to  give  me 
an  appearance  of  cheerfulness  under  my  supposed 
misfortune ;  and  all  appeared  to  derive  comfort 
and  support  from  my  presence.  The  indomitable 
serenity  of  Balcombe  made  him  a  valuable  auxil- 
iary. They  all  seemed  to  have  taken  the  infection 
of  my  habitual  confidence  that  he  would  always 
advise  what  was  best,  and  find  some  means  to 
make  its  accomplishment  practicable.  I  was  par- 
ticularly pleased  to  see  that  Jane  approached  him 
with  more  cordiality  than  I  had  ever  seen  her  dis- 
play towards  him ;  while  there  was  a  something  in 
her  manner  which  seemed  to  deprecate  his  displeas- 
ure, and  implore  forgiveness.  He  understood  it, 
and  met  her  advances  with  the  most  soothing  ten- 
derness. There  was  a  degree  of  harmony  in  the 
general  sense  of  a  common  calamity  which  each 
should  help  the  rest  to  bear,  that  it  seemed  a  pity 
to  disturb. 


298 


GEORGE  BALCOMBE. 


In  this  spirit  we  quietly  took  our  frugal  supper, 
and  I  then  handed  my  mother  Mr.  Raby's  letter. 
I  had  little  doubt  of  the  contents,  and  expected  that 
they  would  in  some  measure  prepare  the  minds  of 
all  for  the  yet  better  intelligence  which  was  in  store 
for  them.  I  was  not  disappointed.  My  mother 
read  the  letter  with  just  such  emotions  as  I  had 
expected  and  wished,  and  handing  it  to  me,  said, 

"Was  I  not  right,  my  children?  Said  I  not 
truly  that  God  would  not  desert  us,  if  we  could 
compose  our  minds  to  be  thankful  for  the  past,  in- 
stead of  murmuring  about  the  present,  and  to  trust 
to  him  for  the  future.  He  has  brought  light  out  of 
darkness,  and  given  us  a  kind  friend  in  one  we 
had  deemed  our  worst  enemy.  Read  that  aloud, 
William,  and  let  us  all  learn  to  be  humble  and 
thankful." 

I  took  the  letter,  and  as  she  requested,  read  as 
follows : — 

"MADAM, 

"  Let  me  indulge  a  hope  that  the  sight  of  my 
name  at  the  bottom  of  this  letter  may  not  prevent 
you  from  reading  it.  Having  hitherto  received 
nothing  at  my  hands  but  what,  to  you  at  least,  ap- 
peared to  be  injustice,  I  cannot  expect  to  engage 
your  attention  to  what  I  am  about  to  say,  without 
first  assuring  you  that  the  purpose  of  this  letter  is 
altogether  friendly. 

"  According  to  my  understanding  of  the  subject, 
estates,  such  as  that  held  by  your  father  during  his 


GEORGE   BALCOMBE.  299 

life,  are  so  limited,  in  order  that  the  head  of  each 
family  may  have  it  in  his  power  to  uphold  the  name 
of  the  donor,  and  to  stand  in  his  place  as  the  guar- 
dian and  protector  of  all  others  descended  from 
him.  I  have  been  thus  established  by  my  grand- 
father (who  is  also  the  great-grandfather  of  your 
son)  in  all  his  rights  and  all  his  duties  to  his  pos- 
terity, so  far  as  they  are  connected  with  that  prop- 
erty. Your  honourable  and  just  father  saw  the 
subject  in  this  light.  He  knew  that  I  did  too ;  and 
therefore  determined,  by  his  will,  to  fulfil  the  de- 
sign of  his  father,  instead  of  availing  himself  of 
the  power  which  the  change  of  the  laws  of  your 
country  gave  him  over  the  subject.  When  I  went 
to  Virginia  for  the  purpose  of  establishing  my 
claims,  I  would  gladly  have  explained  the  relation 
in  which  I  was  thus  placed  to  you  and  your  family, 
to  be  that  of  a  friend  and  protector ;  but  I  found 
myself  met  and  repulsed  as  an  enemy,  and  an  in- 
truder on  the  rights  of  others.  I  made  such  ad- 
vances as  my  self-respect  permitted.  Perhaps  I 
went  somewhat  too  far.  I  perceived  something 
of  the  difficulties  of  your  husband's  situation  ;  but 
I  was  made  to  feel  that  an  offer  to  relieve  them 
would  be  taken  as  a  marked  overture  to  a  base 
and  dishonourable  compromise.  I  could  therefore 
make  no  such  offer.  Conscious  as  I  was  of  none 
but  kind  intentions  towards  you  and  yours,  I  felt 
myself  wronged,  and  returned  to  England,  making 
up  my  mind  to  take  no  further  interest  in  your 
affairs. 


300  GEORGE    BALCOMBE.    \ 

'•  Herein  resentment  made  me  forgetful  of  my 
duty,  and  I  am  recalled  to  it  by  learning  accident- 
ally the  disastrous  condition  in  which  your  hus- 
band's death  has  left  his  family.  I  have  not  heard 
particulars,  nor  do  I  now  stop  to  inquire  them. 
My  first  duty  is  plain.  It  is  to  make  a  provisional 
arrangement  for  your  comfort.  The  second  is  to 
endeavour  to  engage  your  confidence  so  far  as  to 
obtain  a  full  knowledge  of  all  your  difficulties. 
The  third  and  most  pleasant  will  be  to  remove 
them  if  practicable. 

"  I  wish  I  could  confidently  anticipate  that,  hav- 
ing read  thus  far,  your  mind  will  be  altogether  pre- 
pared to  take  what  follows  in  the  same  frank  and 
cordial  spirit  in  which  it  is  offered.  Should  this 
not  be  so,  my  proposition  is  one  which  can  be 
passed  by  in  silence.  But  I  will  hope  a  different 
result. 

"  If  I  remember  right,  your  son  came  of  age  in 
April  last.  If  this  be  so,  pray  observe  the  evi- 
dence I  here  give  that  I  have  ever  looked  on  your 
family  with  the  eye  of  a  kinsman  and  friend.  The 
birth  of  a  boy,  to  be  the  prop  of  your  house,  was/ 
noted  by  me  as  an  event  of  great  interest.  But  let 
that  pass.  He  is  of  age,  and  either  is  or  ought  to 
be  your  representative  in  all  pecuniary  matters.  I 
have  therefore  given  instructions  to  my  friend  and 
agent,  Joseph  Swann,  Esquire,  to  account  with  him 
alone  for  the  nett  income  from  the  property  at  Bar- 
nard's Castle.  The  house  with  all  it  contains  is 
also  at  your  service.  What  else  it  may  be  my 


GEORGE    BALGOMBB.  301 

duty  to  do,  will  be  considered  of  when  you  shall 
have  honoured  me  with  your  confidence  so  far  as 
to  make  me  acquainted  with  the  extent  of  your 
difficulties.  Had  I  told  you  five  years  ago  that  in 
claiming  the  estate  devised  to  me  by  your  father, 
I  did  but  take  it  as  the  steward  of  my  grandfather, 
for  the  benefit  of  all  his  descendants,  my  sincerity 
might  have  been  questioned.  Let  me  hope  it  will 
not  be  so  now,  and  that  in  futuf  e  I  may  be  regarded 
by  you  and  your's  not  as  an  alien  and  an  enemy, 
but  as  your  kinsman  and  friend, 

"  EDWARD  RABY. 

"  Raby  Hall,  Northumberland  county,  ) 
England,  November  18th,  1820."  $ 

The  effect  of  this  letter  was  such  as  might  have 
been  anticipated.  My  poor  mother  was  at  least 
as  much  humbled  and  mortified  as  delighted. 
Little  Laura  was  in  raptures  with  "  the  dear  good 
old  soul,"  as  she  called  Mr.  Raby.  Jane's  counte- 
nance brightened  for  a  moment.  But  this  present 
relief  placed  her  no  nearer  the  great  object  of  her 
wishes ;  and  the  cloud  soon  again  settled  on  her 
brow.  Ann's  gratitude  manifestly  predominated 
over  every  other  feeling,  except,  perhaps,  her  pleas*- 
ure  at  seeing  me  about  to  be  relieved  from  my  dif- 
ficulties. Of  herself  she  seemed  not  to  think,  and 
looked  up  in  my  face  with  a  smile  which  said, 
"  Help  us  to  thank  our  benefactor." 

"Why  are  you  so  silent,  William?"  said  my 

VOL.  II. C  C 


302  GEORGE   BALCOMBE. 

mother.  "Do  you  see  any  objections  to  the  ac- 
ceptance of  our  kinsman's  proffered  kindness?" 

"None,"  said  I.  "  I  have  felt  as  you  do.  But 
the  force  of  my  feelings  has  spent  itself.  I  knew 
this  before." 

"By  what  means?" 

"  By  Mr.  Raby's  letter  to  Major  Swann  in  which 
that  was  enclosed." 

"  The  order,  then,  has  been  actually  given  V9 

tl  Certainly.  And  I  come  to  make  preparations 
for  removing  you  to  Barnard's  Castle." 

"  Oh  me  !"  exclaimed  Laura,  bursting  into  tears, 
"  mustl we  still  leave  dear  Craiganet  after  all  ?" 

"  It  seems  so,  my  child,"  said  my  mother,  "  and 
we  must  learn  to  do  so  with  thankful  hearts ; 
though  to  me  the  most  princely  residence  would 
not  be  so  pleasant  as  these  scenes  of  my  happy 
youth,  with  all  their  sweet  and  bitter  recollections. 
But  come,  my  children ;  we  must  be  busy  to-mor- 
row. To-night  must  be  given  to  thanksgiving, 
reflection,  and  repose.  Good-night,  my  son.  And 
you,"  extending  her  hand  with  matronly  grace  to 
Balcombe,  "  my  generous  and  noble  friend  !  Let 
me  but  learn  to  thank  the  efficient  aid  of  our  bene- 
factor, as  my  heart  thanks  you  for  your  baffled 
efforts  to  serve  us,  and  he  will  not  tax  me  with 
ingratitude." 

As  soon  as  breakfast  was  over  the  next  morning 
I  interrupted  the  discussion  of  our  proposed  re- 
moval by  telling  the  whole  story  of  the  will,  an 
authentic  copy  of  which  I  now  handed  to  my  mo- 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  303 

ther.  It  was  well,  perhaps,  that  I  had  prepared  her 
mind  the  night  before,  by  conducting  it  to  a  sort  of 
halfway  stage  between  depression  and  exultation. 
As  it  was  she  bore  the  news  well  enough,  though 
her  nerves  were  severely  shaken.  Poor  Jane,  for 
the  want  of  such  preparation,  (for  now,  for  the  first 
time,  hope  dawned  on  her,  and  in  the  same  moment 
brightened  to  the  perfect  day  of  certainty,)  she, 
poor  girl,  sank  under  it  in  a  strong  hysterical  affec- 
tion. If  such  things  were  ever  dangerous,  I  should 
have  been  alarmed  for  her.  As  it  was,  she  occu- 
pied all  our  attention,  until  my  news  had  lost  some- 
thing of  its  exciting  effect  on  the  rest. 

As  soon  as  a  calm  was  restored,  I  reminded  my 
mother  of  the  preference  she  had  expressed  the 
night  before  for  Craiganet  as  a  residence;  and 
told  her  that  I  would,  at  once,  take  measures  to 
discharge  the  property  from  all  encumbrance,  by 
pledging  my  own  personal  responsibility  to  the 
creditors.  By  this  means  the  approaching  sale, 
appointed  for  Newyear's  day,  would  be  prevented ; 
and  instead  of  preparing  for  our  removal,  she  would 
be  permitted  to  remain  in  peace  and  quietness 
where  she  was. 

Here  was  a  new  cause  for  rejoicing.  The 
pleasure  of  my  mother  was  heartfelt,  and  the  glee 
of  Laura  more  obstreperous  than  at  any  time 
before.  Jane  was  too  much  absorbed  to  think 
about  it;  and  as  to  Ann,  Barnard's  Castle  was 
"  the  pole  of  all  her  young  affections,"  and  that 
would  again  be  her  home.  It  was  rather  cause  of 


304  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

sorrow  than  joy  to  her  that  it  was  not  also  to  be 
the  home  of  her  second  mother. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  tumult  of  feeling,  in  which 
tears  were  more  rife  than  smiles,  Margaret  How- 
ard and  Douglas  drove  up.  It  was  easy  for  them 
to  misunderstand  the  cause  of  the  emotion  they 
beheld.  It  was  very  much  in  appearance,  such  as 
my  return,  after  the  final  defeat  of  my  hopes,  might 
have  been  expected  to  occasion.  Margaret  offered 
no  condolence  in  words,  but  her  manner  was  full 
of  tender  sympathy,  and  as  she  kissed  my  mother, 
she  said  she  had  come  to  invite  us  to  Oakwood  the 
next  day.  She  added  that  her  brother -would  be 
gone  to  Castle  Howard,  his  principal  residence,  and 
that  she  and  her  mother  would  follow  in  a  few 
days;  that  we  must  spend  those  few  days  with 
them,  and  remain  there  after  they  were  gone,  until 
the  bustle  of  the  sale  was  over,  and  as  much  longer 
as  our  convenience  might  require. 

She  hurried  through  this  speech  with  an  air  of 
as  much  cheerfulness  as  she  could  assume,  as  if 
fearful  of  interruption  by  her  own  emotion  or  my 
mother's.  It  was  not  until  she  had  got  through 
that  I  saw  a  tear  in  her  eye,  as  again  tenderly 
kissing  my  mother,  she  added, 

"  Do,  my  dear  madam,  say  yes." 

This  was  more  than  could  be  borne.  My  mo- 
ther's self-command  now,  for  the  first  time,  failed 
her,  and  falling  on  Miss  Howard's  neck,  the  min- 
gled feelings  of  her  heart  at  length  found  vent  in 
tears.  The  rest  of  us  were  hardly  less  affected. 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  305 

To  Ann,  particularly,  the  generosity  and  delicacy 
of  Howard  were  overwhelming.  My  feelings 
were  drawn  into  the  vortex  of  her's,  and  Balcombe 
alone  had  self-possession  enough  to  explain.  As 
to  Douglas,  I  had  observed  his  rueful  visage  as  he 
entered  ;  but  a  glance  had  been  exchanged  between 
him  and  Jane,  and  they  were  gone.  Between 
them,  doubtless,  the  matter  was  soon  understood. 
But  they  had  it  all  to  themselves.  I  saw  no  more 
of  them  until  dinner,  when  they  appeared  with 
glowing  cheeks,  and  eyes  red,  but  beaming  with 
delight.  I  was  pleased  to  find  that  Jane,  on  this 
occasion,  did  not  seem  to  think  her  dignity  engaged 
to  hide  her  feelings.  She  showed  them  simply  and 
naturally  ;  she  rejoiced  with  others,  and  was  glad 
to  have  them  rejoice  with  her.  She  had  no  part  to 
act.  She  had  no  scheme  in  her  head.  She  was 
once  more  the  same  honest  girl  I  had  known  her 
before  the  visit  of  Howard  to  Oakwood,  and  his 
attentions  to  Ann.  I  was  delighted  to  recognise 
one  whom  I  had  so  much  loved,  and  whom  I  had 
despaired  of  ever  seeing  again.  I  caressed  her 
playfully,  in  a  manner  which,  a  month  before, 
would  have  outraged  her  dignity,  and  she  said  to 
me  apart, 

"  Oh  William !  I  am  so  thankful  to  you.  It  was 
a  severe  operation.  You  cut  deep,  but  you  reached 
the  seat  of  the  disease,  and  I  have  no  fear  that  I 
shall  prove  myself  unworthy  of  the  happiness  I 
now  hope  for." 

We  now  understood  from  Miss  Howard  that  her 
c  c  2 


306 


GEORGE  BALCOMBE. 


brother  was  well  enough  to  travel,  and  proposed 
to  do  so  for  his  health.  With  that  view  he  would 
leave  Oakwood  next  morning,  and  in  the  spring  he 
would  probably  go  to  Europe. 

"  And  shall  /  see  him  no  more  ?"  said  -Ann,  with 
all  the  simplicity  of  her  innocent  and  grateful 
heart.  "  Dear  generous  Henry  !  had  he  prepared 
to  load  us  with  kindness  and  steal  away  from  our 

gratitude  ?" 

**#### 

I  believe  I  have  done  my  story.  It  matters  little 
whether  we  went  to  Oakwood  or  not.  But  we  did 
go,  and  received  the  congratulations  of  Mrs.  How- 
ard. I  now,  too,  had  an  opportunity  of  hearing  her 
and  her  daughter  express  their  grateful  admiration 
of  Balcombe.  He  had  left  us  to  bring  down  his 
wife,  that  she  might  spend  with  us  the  approaching 
season  of  festivity. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it,"  said  Margaret  Howard. 
"  I  don't  want  to  be  led  into  temptation.  But  as  I 
never  mean  to  marry  any  man  but  Mr.  Balcombe, 
or  some  other  like  him,  and  none  such  is  to  be 
found,  I  beg  you  to  advise  her  never  to  take  food 
from  my  hand.  I  feel  a  little  conscientious  just  at 
this  moment,  and  so  take  this  security  against  the 
hour  of  temptation  and  weakness.  Do,  Mr.  Wil- 
liam, tell  me  where  I  may  go  to  look  for  such 
another  man." 

"  You  must  go  to  the  place  he  came  from,"  said 
I ;  •'  and  then  to  no  purpose,  unless  you  can  find 
some  man,  intelligent  and  brave  by  nature,  who 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  307 

has  been  carefully  nurtured  in  the  seed-bed  of  a 
civilized,  enlightened  Christian  society,  and  then 
transplanted  to  the  rich  wilds  where  his  luxuriance 
may  expand  itself  without  restraint." 

In  due  season  Balcombe  arrived  with  his  family, 
and  we  Christmas'd  it  around  at  Oakwood,  at 
Craiganet,  at  Raby  Hall,  at  Barnard's  Castle  ;  and 
when  Christmas  was  gone  and  forgotten  by  others 
it  was  still  Christmas  with  us,  until  the  month  of 
February  brought  Mr.  Raby's  answer  to  our 
letters. 

This  was  friendly,  congratulatory,  self-accusing, 
and  definitive.  It  enclosed  a  large  account  of 
rents  and  profits,  with  a  declaration  that  no  con- 
sideration on  earth  should  tempt  him  to  retain  one 
cent  of  advantage  from  a  transaction,  doubtful  in 
its  character,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  and  which  had 
always  debased  him  in  his  own  estimation.  The 
money  thrown  away  on  Montague  he  considered 
as  the  mere  earnest  of  a  bargain  with  the  devil, 
through  one  of  his  emissaries,  which  he  was  glad  to 
forfeit  if  he  might  thereby  annul  the  contract.  He 
enclosed  bills  for  the  whole  amount  due  according 
to  his  statement,  including  interest,  and  expressed 
a  hope  that  the  command  of  so  much  money  would 
tempt  me  to  travel.  Then  followed  a  kind  invita- 
tion to  visit  him;  a  hint  at  the  opportunities  of 
forming  desirable  connections  in  England  ;  and  an 
intimation  that  no  gentleman  or  nobleman  in  the 
north  of  England  would  deny  his  daughter  to  a 
man  bearing  a  name  so  illustrious  in  the  legends  of 


308  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

the  olden  time  as  that  of  Raby.  This  advantage, 
on  which  my  aristocratic  kinsman  laid  so  much 
stress,  I  had  nearly  overlooked,  and  am  now  re- 
minded to  tell  the  reader,  that  the  assumption  of 
the  name  of  Raby  was  made,  in  my  grandfather's 
will,  a  condition  of  the  devise.  With  this  I  cheer- 
fully complied.  My  name  was  changed  in  due 
form,  and  I  am  ever  since  at  the  reader's  service, 
WILLIAM  NAPIER  RABY, 

of 

Barnard's  Castle,  Northumberland, 
Virginia. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

To  each  and  all  a  fair  good-night, 
And  rosy  dreams  and  slumbers  light, 

WHEN  I  said  that  I  had  finished  my  story,  it  was 
in  one  of  those  moments  of  concentrated  selfishness 
in  which  a  man  forgets  there  is  anybody  else  in 
the  world  but  himself.  I  did  think  of  one  more. 
I  thought  of  Ann.  But  as  she  has  long  been  a 
part  of  myself,  I  am  afraid  I  have  occasion  to  go 
back  and  read  the  lecture  which  I  gave  my  sister 
Jane.  But  I  have  not  quite  forgotten  it,  and  in 
proof  of  it  I  will  tell  the  reader  what  became  of  the 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  309 

other  personages  in  my  drama,  even  down  to  Jim 
Porter  the  ducker. 

Howard  no  sooner  reached  home  than  he  com- 
menced his  preparations  for  foreign  travel.  He 
visited  every  part  of  Europe,  not  excepting  Greece, 
and  for  a  time  seemed  bent  on  finding  that  relief 
from  wo  which  he  had  vainly  sought  from  the 
hand  of  Balcombe.  But  though  he  found  not  this, 
he  found  a  much  better  and  equally  efficient 
remedy.  He  came  into  collision  with  men  whose 
pretensions  on  the  score  of  birth  and  fortune  paled 
his  own.  He  encountered  privation,  hardship,  and 
difficulty,  and  learned  to  live  without  the  habitual 
indulgence  of  all  his  wishes.  He  frequented  scenes 
where  danger  sought  him  when  he  sought  it  not, 
and  learned  to  think  that  a  man's  courage  may  be 
tested  by  other  and  better  means  than  his  readiness 
to  peril  his  life  on  every  fool's  quarrel.  In  learning 
all  this  he  lost  nothing  of  his  high  honour,  his  strict 
principles,  his  delicacy  of  feeling,  his  easy  deport- 
ment and  refined  courtesy,  and  came  back,  after 
an  absence  of  three  years,  a  man  every  way 
worthy  of  his  prosperous  fortune.  It  was  not  long 
before  our  intercourse  was  renewed,  and  as  our 
friendship  had  known  no  abatement,  it  at  once 
assumed  the  character  of  cordial  intimacy.  This 
brought  him  frequently  in  company  with  my  sister 
Laura,  and  I  saw  with  pleasure  that  she  soon 
began  to  fill  the  place  in  his  regard  which  had 
been  left  vacant  by  Ann.  The  reader  anticipates 


310  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

the  result.  They  have  been  m arried  a  dozen  years, 
and  are  happy. 

Margaret  Howard  married  a  gentleman  of 
moderate  estate,  in  whom,  perhaps,  were  more  of 
the  qualities  of  Balcombe  than  in  any  other  I  have 
ever  known.  He  was  not  fully  equal  to  that  beau 
ideal  of  Miss  Howard's  imagination ;  but  it  came 
in  aid  of  the  resemblance  that  he  was  nearly 
as  old. 

Balcombe  returned  to  Missouri  in  the  spring. 
In  his  journey  from  Fredericksburg  to  Craiganet  he 
had  made  his  wife  acquainted  with  all  of  us,  so 
that  she  came  among  us  completely  divested  of 
her  reserve.  She  seemed  as  if  she  had  known  us 
all  her  life.  She  met  me  as  if  I  had  been  her 
brother.  Ann  she  never  called  from  the  first  by 
any  other  name.  With  Jane  she  was  somewhat 
more  punctilious.  To  my  mother  tenderly  re- 
spectful, and  to  Laura  she  was  as  an  elder  sister. 

The  reader  will  readily  suppose  that,  on  the 
appearance  of  my  grandfather's  will,  all  the  scru- 
ples of  old  Douglas  vanished  like  a  ghost  at  the 
crowing  of  a  cock.  The  consequence  was  that 
the  same  day  was  fixed  for  the  marriage  of  my 
sister  and  myself.  As  we  were  oldfashioned  folks,, 
who  love  to  preserve  all  memorials  of  things  that 
have  been,  we  fixed  on  Valentine's  day.  As  it 
approached,  I  received  a  hint  that  it  would  be  as 
well  that  Balcombe  and  I  should  take  ourselves 
out  of  the  way  of  mops  and  brooms,  especially  if 
we  had  no  mind  to  live  on  bread  and  cheese,  during 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  311 

certain  days  appropriated  to  the  preparation  of 
jellies,  bridal  cakes,  &c.,  &c.  I  communicated 
this  intimation  to  Balcombe,andwe  determined  to 
use  the  time  for  a  visit  to  Barnard's  Castle,  my 
future  home,  and  Raby  Hall,  which  I  wished  to 
make  his.  His  wife  insisted  on  accompanying  us. 
I  was  not  sorry  for  this,  for  I  found  her  heart 
began  to  yearn  for  her  wild  home,  her  "  desert 
solitude,"  and  I  had  hopes  the  sight  of  Raby  Hall, 
with  all  its  substantial  comforts,  might  tempt  her 
to  remain  with  us.  I  had  a  wish,  too,  (perhaps  im- 
pertinent,) to  be  present  at  her  meeting  with  Mary 
Scott.  And  I  did  see  it.  I  had  never  mentioned 
that  unfortunate  woman  in  her  presence.  But  she 
could  be  no  stranger  to  her  history,  and  to  that  of 
her  husband's  former  attachment  and  continued 
esteem  and  admiration.  Such  a  case  was  out  of 
rule,  and  I  was  at  a  loss  to  tell  how  she  would 
treat  it.  I  might  have  known  that,  as  George  Bal- 
combe's  wife,  she  would  do  the  thing  that  was 
right,  but  what  that  was  to  be  I  did  not  know. 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Balcombe  was  introduced  to 
the  major  and  his  lady,  Balcombe  inquired  for 
Mary  Scott,  and  asked  to  be  conducted  to  her. 
In  a  few  moments  he  returned.  She  was  leaning 
on  his  arm,  and  he  led  her  with  as  much  proud 
respect  as  if  she  had  been  a  queen.  His  wife  rose 
and  advanced  to  meet  them.  I  have  spoken  of  her 
lofty  stature  and  commanding  air.  I  never  saw 
her  half  so  majestic  as  now.  Her  step  was  slow, 
her  carriage  lofty,  her  countenance  unmoved,  yet 


312  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

in  the  whole  there  was  an  air  of  tenderness  and 
softness  in  which  everything  like  dignity  was  for- 
gotten. I  saw  poor  Mary  lift  up  her  eyes,  and 
blench  under  the  full  black  eye  of  the  stately  figure 
before  her ;  but  she  again  raised  her  head,  and 
looked  up  confidingly  in  Balcombe's  face. 

"  I  need  not  tell  you,"  said  he,  "  who  this  is,  and 
how  much  I  owe  her." 

"  You  owe  her  everything,"  replied  Mrs.  Bal- 
combe,  "that  man  can  owe  to  the  disinterested 
friendship  of  a  noble  being.  You  owe  her  all  of 
your  heart  that  is  not  mine,  and  she  must  give  me 
a  place  in  her's  for  your  sake." 

Saying  this,  she  extended  both  her  arms,  and 
folded  the  poor  shrinking  creature  to  her  bosom. 
She  would  have  kissed  her,  but  Mary  could  not 
look  up,  and  Mrs.  Balcombe,  gently  moving  her  to 
the  sofa,  sat  down  with  her,  without  loosening  her 
hold,  or  removing  the  face  of  the  weeping  girl  from 
the  shoulder  where  it  rested.  There  she  sat,  bend- 
ing over  and  soothing  her,  as  if  unconscious  of  the 
presence  of  every  other. 

The  major  had  turned  to  the  window  to  hide  his 
emotion.  I  did  the  same  ;  when  he  said,  in  a  low 
tone, 

"All  our  training  can  produce  nothing  like  this. 
Where  the  essentials  of  good  breeding  and  good 
principles  are  preserved,  there  is  a  majesty  in  the 
wild  forms  of  nature  that  art  can  never  reach." 

When  the  tumult  of  Mary's  feelings  had  sub- 
sided, Mrs.  Balcombe  still  sat  by  her,  and  drew 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  313 

her  into  conversation.  I  never  before  had  seen 
her  so  affable  to  a  stranger ;  but  on  this  occasion, 
though  their  topics  were  few  and  restricted,  yet 
they  talked  on  like  old  acquaintances,  and  parted 
for  the  night  as  if  they  really  were  so. 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Swann  took  Mrs.  Bal- 
combe  over  the  house,  showing  all  those  fixtures 
and  conveniences,  in  which  women  so  much  de- 
light, while  Balcombe  and  I  rode  over  the  estate. 
I  took  this  opportunity  to  show  him  the  advantages 
of  the  place  as  a  residence,  and  urged  him  to  settle 
there.  Seeing  that  he  hesitated,  I  remarked  that 
one  half  of  the  property  was  his  by  the  will  of  my 
grandfather,  and  that  by  every  obligation  of  grati- 
tude and  friendship  I  was  bound  to  make  the  other 
half  his  also. 

"  No  more  of  that,  William,"  said  Balcombe. 
"  Had  I  heard  of  that  bequest,  I  am  not  sure  you 
would  ever  have  heard  of  the  will.  Had  it  been 
contained  in  the  body  of  the  will,  I  would  not  have 
accepted  it.  As  it  is,  my  motives  are  liable  to  no 
misconstruction,  and  I  will  keep  them  so.  And 
now  having  said  this,  I  will  add,  that  I  am  too  poor 
to  occupy  so  large  an  establishment,  and  if  I  were 
here,  I  should  have  a  constant  warfare  with  you 
about  aids  which  you  would  offer,  and  I  would 
decline.  No,  William  ;  I  am  well  enough  off  for 
Missouri.  I  should  be  a  poor  man  here.  My 
wife's  parents  are  there.  I  must  not  task  her  de- 
votion to  an  old  husband  too  far.  I  must  take  her 
back  to  them.  But  I  will  deal  with  you  in  all  the 

VOL.   II. — D  D 


314  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

frankness  of  friendship.  I  would  much  rather  be 
here,  but  whether  it  will  ever  be  in  my  power  I 
cannot  tell.  Now  I  propose  this:  take  my  prop- 
erty here  at  any  valuation ;  pay  me  the  interest  of 
the  money,  as  long  as  we  both  live,  and  if  I  wish 
to  return  cancel  the  bargain,  and  let  me  have  your 
half  at  the  same  price." 

To  this  I  agreed.  A  round  sum  was  fixed  on 
as  the  price,  and  the  bargain  concluded. 

To  Mrs.  Balcombe  this  arrangement  was  quite 
satisfactory.  To  poor  Mary  it  was  a  subject  of 
great  but  silent  grief.  She  said  little  until  Bal- 
combe proposed,  as  part  of  the  plan}  that  as  soon 
as  James's  education  should  be  finished,  he  should 
follow  him  to  the  western  country  and  seek  his  for- 
tune there.  At  this  suggestion  all  her  self-com- 
mand forsook  her.  When  she  recovered  herself, 
she  said  she  would  not  be  any  hinderance  to  James's 
advancement,  and  admitted  the  plan  to  be  a  good 
one. 

"  But,  oh  George  !  I  was  so  happy  in  the  thought 
of  being  near  my  best  friend,  and  to  have  the  ben- 
efit of  his  instructions,  advice,  and  example  for  my 
poor  boy,  without  ever  parting  from  him,  and  now 
to  lose  you  both !  It  is  too  much  1" 

Mrs.  Balcombe  now  spoke  to  her  a  few  words 
in  a  low  and  tender  tone,  to  which  she  replied, 

"No,  my  dear  madam.  That  must  not  be. 
Your  good  and  wise  husband  knows  my  reasons, 
and  he  approves  them.  While  Mr.  Napier  per- 
mits me  to  receive  shelter  here,  from  the  kind 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  315 

friends  who  lifted  me  up  when  I  was  prostrate  in 
the  dust,  I  shall  seek  no  other  home." 

"  You  shall  never  need  another,"  said  I,  "  while 
this  will  content  you." 

"  And  if  the  most  tender  and  profound  respect 
on  our  part,"  said  the  major,  "  can  make  you  happy 
here,  you  will  never  wish  to  change  your  place  of 
abode." 

The  grateful  creature  looked  as  she  spoke  from 
one  to  another,  and  then  clasping  her  hands,  ex- 
claimed, 

"  Oh,  how  have  I  deserved  this  ?" 

When  I  heard  what  passed  between  Mary  and 
Mrs.  Balcombe,  I  looked  at  Balcombe  for  an  ex- 
planation. He  now  said  to  me  apart, 

"I  proposed  to  her  to  accompany  me  to  Mis- 
souri, and  make  my  house  her  home,  and  she  de- 
clined it." 

"  Why  so  ?" 

"  For  reasons  worthy  of  her.  Our  equal  ages 
and  my  former  attachment  to  her.  *  I  see,'  said 
she,  *  the  confiding  nobleness  of  your  wife,  and  I 
know  she  cannot  be  insensible  of  the  advantages  of 
youth  and  beauty.  But  it  is  not  right  to  task  your 
generosity,  or  to  incur  the  least  hazard  of  disturb- 
ing her  peace  of  mind.  The  situation  you  propose 
would  be  to  me  the  happiest  in  the  world,  were  it 
forced  on  me  by  circumstances.  But  it  would  be 
wrong  to  adopt  it  from  choice,  and  the  thought  of 
that  would  make  me  unhappy.  Should.my  present 
dependance  fail  me,  George,  and  leave  me  without 


316 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 


a  home,  I  will  to  you  as  to  a  brother,  and  take 
shelter  under  your  roof.' " 

After  spending  a  day  or  two  at  Raby  Hall,  we 
went  to  Barnard's  Castle,  leaving  Mrs.  Balcombe 
behind.  Here  my  arrangements  were  soon  made. 
We  returned  to  Raby  Hall ;  and  on  the  day  before 
that  appointed  for  the  double  wedding,  returned  to 
Craiganet. 

As  Balcombe  had  determined  to  set  out  for  Mis- 
souri as  soon  as  the  nuptial  festivities  were  over, 
he  prepared  to  take  a  final  leave  of  the  major  and 
Mary  Scott.  In  order  to  this  he  drew  up  a  paper, 
directing  me  to  pay  her  quarterly  a  handsome  an- 
nuity out  of  the  interest  on  the  price  of  his  prop- 
erty. Having  showed  me  this,  he  handed  it  to  his 
wife,  to  be  given  to  Mary  on  separating  for  the 
night.  This  was  done;  and  when  we  met  in  the 
morning  I  could  read  it  in  her  grateful  counte- 
nance. I  think  I  never  saw  one  in  which  that 
most  beautiful  of  all  expressions  (save  only  that 
of  tender  love)  displayed  itself  so  strongly  as  in 
her's.  Perhaps  no  heart  ever  felt  the  sentiment  so 
deeply. 

When  we  were  about  to  part  Mrs.  Balcombe 
kissed  her  tenderly,  while  Balcombe  bade  farewell 
to  the  major  and  his  lady.  Then  turning  to  Mary, 
he  folded  her  to  his  bosom,  and  kissing  her  fore- 
head as  usual,  was  about  to  leave  her,  when  she 
held  up  her  lips  and  said, 

"Once  more,  dear  George,  This  once;  this 
last  time." 


GEORGE   BALCOMBE.  317 

And  once  more  he  impressed  upon  her  lips  the 
hallowed  kiss  of  his  pure  and  generous  friendship. 

"  Thank  God  !  thank  God !"  she  exclaimed,  in  a 
tone  of  elevated  enthusiasm.  "  Should  we  never 
meet  again,  that  token  of  a  brother's  love  I  will 
carry  to  the  grave." 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  the  kind  old  major,  "  Mr. 
Balcombe  is  indeed  a  brother.  You  lose  him  now ; 
let  me  be  your  father." 

The  poor  creature  could  make  no  answer.  Bal- 
combe wrung  the  major's  hand,  and  we  left  the 
house. 

On  our  return  to  Craiganet,  we  found  Douglas 
there,  accompanied  by  Margaret  Howard.  I  was 
rejoiced  at  this.  I  wished  Mrs.  Balcombe  to 
know  this  softened  reflection  of  some  of  her  hus- 
band's noblest  qualities.  I  had  excited  her  wish  to 
know  Miss  Howard,  by  speaking  of  her  in  such 
terms  as  conveyed  this  idea.  Margaret,  on  the 
other  hand,  met  her  as  one  whom  she  ought  to 
esteem  as  the  -wife  of  a  man  she  so  much  admired. 
In  short,  they  met  as  sisters,  and  grew  together 
into  the  most  cordial  intimacy. 

"  She  is  the  only  woman  in  the  world,"  said 
Mrs.  Balcombe,  "  worthy  to  be  the  wife  of  Mr. 
Balcombe." 

I  shall  not  tell  the  reader  about  the  wedding. 
It  is  an  old  story ;  fifteen  years  old  to-morrow ; 
and  there  sits  Ann,  quite  matronly,  with  her  eldest 
daughter  by  her  side,  working  her  sampler.  Our 
firstborn  is  out  with  his  gun.  The  youngest  is 


318  GEORGE    BALCOMBE. 

asleep  in  the  cradle,  and  a  wee  thing  of  three  years 
old  is  worrying  the  cat,  and  plaguing  me  by  invi- 
ting my  attention  to  her  pranks. 

Jane  makes  Douglas  a  good  wife.  Whether  her 
seniority  gives  her  the  same  advantage  over  the 
husband  that  she  had  over  the  lover,  I  don't  know. 
I  rather  think  not.  But  boys  always  fall  in  love 
the  first  time  with  women  older  than  themselves  ; 
and  no  woman  ever  objected,  in  her  own  case,  to  a 
man  for  being  too  young. 

Keizer  returned  with  Balcombe  to  Missouri,  and 
has  ever  since  lived  uprightly  and  comfortably 
under  his  munificent  patron.  James  Scott  fol- 
lowed in  three  years.  He  has  prospered,  and 
attained  to  competency  and  honour.  Should  I 
give  his  true  name,  many  of  my  readers  would 
find  that  I  had  been  speaking  of  one  of  whom  they 
have  heard  before.  Balcombe's  daughter  is  now 
grown.  I  hear  frequently  from  her  father,  and 
suspect,  from  some  expressions,  that  Miss  Delia 
has  found  out  that  the  difference  between  the  ages 
of  her  parents  is  about  the  same  as  that  between 
her's  and  James's. 

I  regret  to  close  this  summary  by  adding,  that 
within  one  year  past  Colonel  Robinson  has  followed 
his  wife,  who  died  soon  after  Balcombe's  return  to 
Missouri. 

This,  I  believe,  fulfils  my  promise  to  tell  all 
about  everybody,  except  that  I  have  not  yet  ac- 
counted for  Jim  Porter.  Be  it  known  that  he  is  at 
this  moment  shooting  ducks  in  the  Pocoson  of  the 


GEORGE    BALCOMBE.  319 

Raby  Hall  estate,  in  which  he  has  the  exclusive 
privilege  of  hunting,  rent  free. 

Saturday,  February  13,  1836. 

P.S.  Sunday  morning — Valentine's  day. 

A  letter  from  Balcombe.  He  is  coming  to  Vir- 
ginia, and  claims  my  promise  to  sell  him  my  inter- 
est in  the  Raby  Hall  property.  He  has  prospered 
in  his  affairs,  and  the  death  of  Colonel  Robinson 
has  made  him  rich.  James  Scott  has  married  his 
daughter,  (his  only  child,)  and  will  live  with  him. 
I  am  told  to  expect  him  in  April,  and  that  Keizer 
will  accompany  him.  Poor  Mary  (who  since  the 
major's  death  has  been  with  me)  is  beside  herself 
with  joy,  and  there  is  not  a  child  in  the  house  old 
enough  to  talk,  whose  eyes  don't  dance  at  the 
thought  of  seeing  a  man  they  have  all  learned  to 
love  and  honour.  Even  the  negroes  at  Raby  Hall 
will  not  be  sorry ;  for  when  I  bought  out  Balcombe 
they  expressed  no  particular  feeling,  but  merely 
said,  through  Charles,  their  common  spokesman, 

"  We  been  all  mighty  willing,  sir,  to  have  Mass' 
George  for  master." 


THE    END. 


I  w 

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